To Resurrect the Dead
by ProserpinaSnape
Summary: *{Chapter 9 Up}* *changed my pen name* Rated for language so far. After 11 years of the perfect friendship, everything falls apart and Hermione finds that she must go in search for something she's lost--herself, and, maybe, the love she was meant for.
1. Painful Memories

---Hey! Here is my first contribution to the wonderful world of Severus/Hermione fanfiction (I just love them). I hope you like it, although it is a little corny at times, but hey, we all are. I tried to keep most everyone in character (except for the poor bastard in this first chapter and although I do love him, he had to be a bit of prick for plot purposes). Please R&R. All opinions welcome although I will use flames to make S'mores.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognisable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations. (Hehehehe!!) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)  
  


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**Chapter 1  
Painful Memories**  
  


The swift wind swirled around her body—tossing her robes and lifting tendrils of hair off her back and into the breeze. It was getting colder—fall was fast approaching and the girl pulled her robes more tightly around her frame, a desperate attempt to provide protection from the cold surrounding, but it was far more difficult to block out the chill within. The girl sighed loudly—fighting to hear her own voice over the roaring of the repetitive gusts, and before she could stop herself, a single, uncharted tear made its way down her face and into the current. The memories invaded her mind so suddenly that she had no defense from them.

  


~**~

  
  


The room was warm, with an almost orange glow emanating from the crackling fire in the hearth—_Why is it that the memories are always unnaturally warm? _

Hermione sat still and stiff on the overstuffed sofa of her flat, her hair was in a tight, neat bun on the top of her head—to wear it down was impractical and childish, adults are far too sensible to have their curly mane flying about haphazardly. Across the room a man worked diligently in the kitchen, he seemed to have no problem with letting his hair fall this way and that. "Of course," Hermione chuckled lightly to herself "he never could really control it to begin with." She silently scolded for such an immature thought. 

The man in the kitchen worked industriously, a little too efficiently, but still in earnest, as he prepared the meal that she would remember forever. He had planned it all out, up to the kind of candles he would use on the dinner table—nothing would go wrong tonight and for the rest of their lives. Harry smiled inwardly at the thought of spending his life with Hermione, his best friend and..._wife_. Suddenly the word sounded foreign and strange when used in comparison with her, but Harry shook his head, supposing this to be a trick of 11 years of her being just a best friend—besides, dinner was ready. 

He called her to the dining room and she rose, on cue, from her creamed cushions. The table was set meticulously, everything symmetrical and in its place. A voice inside her head giggled, "So orderly, so...Harry." But the second it escaped her subconscious lips another more distant, more suspended voice screamed, "NO! This is not the way he is! He used to be fun and spontaneous and adventurous! Why are you letting him be like this? Why are you letting yourself become this?!" She quickly dismissed the voice, forcing it, with more difficulty than usual, into the back of her mind—so far away that she couldn't hear her own desperate screams.

Everything went like clockwork as each meal was served and consumed in the allotted time that Harry had worked out five weeks prior. Everything seemed to be timed to perfection, and in the mind of Harry Potter, things were certain to fall precisely into place before the night was done—his persistent egotism was his greatest weakness.

In Hermione's mind, however, things were not going at all the way she wanted them to. She should be happy about tonight, right? She should be ecstatic about the prospect of being loved unconditionally; of being safe, and secure in her match. But something deep within her knew the truth—the truth that she didn't want _just_ to be safe. She didn't want _just_ to be loved—_she_ wanted to love, to be in-love with someone. To feel a love so intense that it would make her soar and feel that even _magic_ wasn't the most magical thing in life. Anyone with half a genuine interest in Hermione's emotions would be able to see her doubt written plainly in every aspect of her face. It escaped Harry. And it was this fact that troubled Hermione the most. Someone had once told her that her face was as readable as an open book-that to know her was like being in the presence of a living version of The Cat in the Hat—triflingly easy to read. _So why the fuck can't he see it!?_

"Because he's to damn interested in himself to even pay attention to the women he has convinced himself that he loves." The nasty voice had once again escaped the confines of its deep imprisonment—a good sign that Hermione was slowly loosing control of her usual detached composure. Outwardly there was no change, at least none that Harry could recognize. 

It can then be surmised on his part that Harry had no hint as to the fate that would await him that evening as they finished the last of their tiramisu. He remained blissfully unaware.

Harry sat across from her, occasionally glancing at her features over a bite—Gods! She was beautiful. She wasn't at all the girl he remembered from that first day on the Hogwart's Express. Her hair, though still curly, was always kept in a tight knot on the top of her head (a suggestion Harry had made to her one day, as he believed that the long flowing ringlets gave her juvenile look), her skin was creamy with a slight flush at her cheekbones that made her look inspiringly British. She was short and lean with long legs, but she kept that hidden, also at Harry's suggestion, under sensible dress suits—tonight she was not in her truest form. She sat across from him in a black cocktail dress that was far too tight and was cut in a fashionable hem that made her resemble a cheap whore in his opinion. Harry dismissed this, though, as something that could be thrown away at the first opportunity he had to speak with her. Instead he placed his fork carefully down upon the small china dish in front of him and snapped for a house-elf to come and take away the plates—Hermione wasn't done, but that didn't matter, she shouldn't eat too much anyway. 

The look on his face said it all—this was it, he was going to do it. He was so bloody predictable as, a moment later, he moved from the chair at the other end of the table to the one next to her. She fervently scooted her own chair back a bit—a sub-conscious effort to distance herself from him and the inevitable turn of their conversation. Harry, though, surprised her, as instead of beating around the subject for ten minutes, he got straight to his point.

"Right, Hermione, I think that we should get married."  
  
_That's it?_ That was all he had to say! He hadn't even tried to build a _moment_ or anything; he had just assumed that whatever way he asked her she would answer affirmative—her years of composure were officially gone, that had been the last straw.  
  
"That's it? That's all you have to say?" she asked bluntly.   
  
He was clearly awestruck (he too was incredibly readable); whatever he had expected her to say, it certainly had _not_ been that. His reply was as composed as he could manage.  
  
"What do you mean 'that's it'? What else where you expecting me to say?"  
  


"Well," she thought for a minute. "I was expecting you to show at least some sort of emotion, not act as though you were negotiating the contract of a client you were expecting to win!" The last part had been said a bit louder than she had anticipated, but she found that instead of simply being astounded by his disconnected proposal, that she was now angered...no, furious. How dare he just _assume_ that she would crumble into his arms at the first offer she got!

Now Harry looked a bit peeved too and Hermione found that she could no longer contain the biting voice from within.  
  
"What Harry," she asked in livid, mock concern, "am I ruining all of your _perfect_ plans for the evening?" She spat the word 'perfect' at him hoping to Gods he would take it as a personal insult and choke on it.   
  


His anger was now evident, and it was only his state of astound at her behavior that kept him from coming up with any reasonable reply right away. His speechlessness was soon overcome as he found himself angrier with her than, in the back of his mind, he felt he should be.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he screamed at her. "Screw the plans—I thought this is what you wanted from me. In all the time we have been dating you always seemed perfectly satisfied with the inevitable turn of this relationship! It's not like you didn't know this was coming...you sure as hell did! And now all of a sudden you are acting like I am the most vile thing in the world and how bloody dare _I_ to try and propose to _you_!" He spewed the last words at her with such force that she physically stumbled from her chair as the truth in his words hit her like a bludger. He was absolutely right; she _hadn't_ ever given him a reason to believe she didn't expect them to marry. She herself had used the phrase "Once we're married" countless times to her friends and to Harry himself—_Gods, I'm such an idiot!_

The thoughts weighed heavy on her shoulders and all of the sudden Hermione felt defeated and very, _very_ tired. "You're right," she stated simply as she sat down in her chair gingerly placing her face into the palms of her hands. "You're right, I have never given you reason to believe that I didn't want to marry you and for that I am—every minute that ticks by—increasingly sorry." Her voice was shaking and fatigued. 

Harry was again astounded by her quick transformation and the fact that she had just apologized, as he took the chair that he had been sitting in and scooted it a bit closer to her own before he resumed the sitting position. "It's all right Hermione," he crooned, gently smoothing her hair back from her forehead, "I accept your apology and am still ready to make you my wife." 

A low snort emitted from between her clamped hands, quickly followed by a wave of chuckles. Hermione lifted her head out of her hands and looked at Harry with the greatest amount of pity and amusement in her eyes—how could anyone be so dense? She shook her head and then grabbed his hands from their resting-place in his lap. "Harry, dear, you don't understand. While I am sorry for my outburst—you must understand that it was the result of five years of repressed feelings—I am still _not_ going to marry you." At this point Harry tried to pull his hands away from Hemione's grasp, but she would not let him go—he _would_ hear what she had to say. "No, listen to me—for once in your damn life! Harry I'm sorry that I led you on, but I can only say that I didn't mean to and wasn't even aware that I was doing it. I thought that this was what I wanted, but it isn't...I knew it wasn't right, but have just been suppressing any part of me that felt that way. I wanted _you_ to be happy—I still do, but...but, not if that means sacrificing my own happiness and myself. I won't let _my_ spirit die for the person that you have become!" By the end of the speech tears were streaming down her face—she knew that the person he was in their youth was gone, this man before her would never understand the reasoning behind her actions. He would call her selfish and horrible (which he did seconds later as he ripped his hands from her grasp like she was a piece of filth). 

She so desperately longed for Harry Potter—the Harry Potter that saved her from the troll, that laughed with her in the Gryffindor common room, and that saved Cedric Diggory's body form the grasp of the Dark Lord. It was in this desperation that she lunged at him, wrapping her arms so tightly around his torso that she imagined he would have trouble breathing. He was too stunned to fight at first, and she was glad that she could hold him—after all it was only the mind that had changed, not the body. She cried hard into his shoulders, breathing in every inch of him and then sobbing it back out in short pleads, "Please, no...just hold me like this...Harry please...please, be the boy...the boy from Hogwarts...the boy I loved." 

At her final words he jerked back, pushing her away from him so that she fell to the ground. She stared up at him through flooded eyes and for the first time she could see that he too had been crying—for what reason she would never fathom. Now, however, his face was flushed with a mixture of hurt, anger and disgust. "No, Hermione, you didn't love me. That boy is gone—gone forever!" And with that he turned heel leaving her lying in a heap on the floor, tears racking her body over and over again.

  


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A/N: Ewww, Harry turned into such a prat. I do apologize to all of you who love Harry, I do too (despite the above caricature); it's just that it's so much more fun and melodramatic if Hermione has all this adult-type baggage. Well, I'm done—hope you liked and Thanks For Reading! Please review. 


	2. A New Beginning

—Ohmygods, I'm sorry this took forever to post, but I don't think that many people read the first chapter anyways so it's OK that I am completely slothenly.   
  
—Yay! Chapter 2! Can't believe it! Okay so there is another poor OOC bastard in this chapter too, but I swear it's all for plot purposes (besides, this one might see the light in the end of the story!) But anyway, we get to see 'Him' in this chapter, Mmmmm!   
  
You read + You have opinion = you review (pretty please!)  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognisable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations (Hehehehe!! ?) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)  
  


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**Chapter 2  
A New Beginning **  
  


Hermione roughly brushed away any of the remaining tears on her face as she stepped off the dark balcony. The cry had been good. She had needed to cry again—she hadn't for so long, not since that night that he had left her, and their friendship, forever. 

Sure, at first she had expected him to call her after a few days (weeks at the most), and they would go to a local café were they would sit and come to peace over butterbeers and biscuits—it wasn't until now that she realized what a deluded little fantasy that had been.

Days, weeks, and months went by without Hermione hearing a single word from or about the wizard who everyone knew. In conversations with mutual friends she felt as though she were being handled carefully—like she was a fragile piece of crystal (Harry had, no doubt, been spreading rumors that she was emotionally unstable) and would break at the slightest jerk—she hated it. She hated them for believing him—taking his side like they always did. 

There was never a time in Hermione's life in which she would have been nominated for a popularity award. Indeed, she had always kept her circle of friends a tight and exclusive club—in truth, it was mainly composed of Harry and Ron. But as they got older the balance amongst the trio changed and Hermione found that in any arguments she had no ally—Ron would always take Harry's side, it was as simple as that. Therefore, it came as no surprise that when Harry began avoiding Hermione, so did Ron. He wouldn't return her calls or owls, and whenever she did manage to get a hold of him, their conversations were always hurried, chaste and accompanied by a good deal of embarrassment on the part of Ron.

"Fine then!" Hermione screamed across her flat, as her owl had just returned the letter she had sent to Ron—unopened. "If he wants to sacrifice my friendship so that he can forever live in the shadow of The Great and Mighty Harry Potter then fine! Fuck him!" She was overcome by emotions and surprised even herself when she walked back onto the balcony and shouted into the black darkness of night, "Do you hear that Ron Weasley? Fuck You!!" Feeling decidedly better than she had in months, Hermione walked back into her living room for the second time that night, this time slamming the balcony doors shut behind her.

***

  
  


Sleep had been nice, but she had things to do. Tossing on a pair of black trousers and grey cable-knit jumper, Hermione's long, curling tresses flowed unheeded down her back as she walked down the hall and into her office where an unanswered letter had laid on her desk for three days. It was a letter just like any other, except that the writing on the front was a scrawling print in emerald green ink, and it was closed shut with a scarlet wax seal bearing the Hogwarts School emblem.

She hadn't wanted to open this letter until she had heard from Ron. Until she was sure that things here were wrapped up in neat little bun—until she was sure that all her bridges could be burned. Since she hadn't heard anything at all she sat in one of the wingback chairs and gingerly broke the seal—perhaps, in the case of Ron, no news _had_ been good news. 

The letter was short and simple—well, as short and simple as a letter from Albus Dumbledore to his favorite pupil that he hadn't seen in five years could be. Hermione was to meet Albus at Hogwarts at 2 o'clock the following day—there was something very important that he needed to discuss with her in person. Giggling with delight, she curled up into herself to read and reread the letter in the warm surroundings of her study. This day was going to be perfect!

"I'm going back home!" she shouted to the orange fluff-ball that was Crookshanks as she scuttled past him in the hall way on her way to the kitchen. Crookshanks simply stretched, gave a disinterested "Meow" and then followed her—feet padding softly on the hardwood floors.

***

  
  


The day of preparation really had been perfect. Hermione had managed to go down to Diagon Alley were she purchased a new deep black robe from Madame Malkin's, and the latest copy of Post-Graduate Advanced Transfiguration. Once her parcels were wrapped she stopped and ate lunch at the Leaky Cauldron before apparating back to her flat to deposit the brown paper packages—she couldn't very well go shopping in Muggle London with boxes imprinted with "Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions" and "Flourish and Blotts Wizarding Booksellers". 

Hermione spent the afternoon picking out just the right outfit to wear when she went to meet Albus the following day. It had really been quite an ordeal and Gods know Hermione had not made it any easier for the women who waited on her, as she could not really specify the exact occasion that the outfit was to be worn to. All she could do was sigh loudly and repeat for the umpteenth time, "It has to be dressy, but not too dressy; adult-looking, but not too much so; casual, but not overly so." In the end Hermione left the shop with an adorable pair of black pin stripe trousers, a fitted ¾ sleeve collared, button-up white shirt, and a black cardigan to wear (the last bit she had been talked into by the exhausted sales women who insisted that it was to cold not to wear something over the shirt—Hermione couldn't have told her about the heavy wool robe she had just bought an hour ago). 

That night was spent in deep contemplation of the various subjects to which Albus could want to discuss—the possibilities were endless. She went over the letter at least 70 more times before finally looking at the clock on her wall to see that it was 1:30 am. "Shit" was all that was said before Hermione dragged herself into the bedroom and properly toppled over with exhaustion.

***

  
  


In all her years at Hogwarts, Hermione had always been an early riser. Even if she had been doing homework or extra credit late into the night, her body had always managed to wake her up before dawn the next day. It, therefore, came as no surprise that when she opened her eyes the next morning the sky outside her window was only hinted with wisps of pink and yellow clouds that forewarned of the inevitable Sunday morning sunrise ahead—it was going to be a beautiful winter day despite the weatherman's rather morose prediction the day previous. 

***

  
  


"Bloody blasted weatherman!" Hermione spat as she sloshed through the freezing snow, up the path, towards the front door of Hogwarts later that day. She had completely forgotten that the weather forecast that she had denounced earlier that morning had been one which she had watched for the North where Hogwarts was located—it was still ruddy beautiful in London! Once under the shelter of the slight overhang of the door Hermione performed a quick drying charm on her hair and robes before knocking tentatively. It occurred to her only then that she had never been a visitor at Hogwarts, in the past the doors had always been open to the students who arrived by coach—she had never had to ask for permission to…. Her thoughts had been cut short by the left door being flung haphazardly open, _and_ by the tall man now standing in front of her. 

"You're late Miss Granger" he sneered down towards her. Hermione smiled, even _he_ was a happy sight to behold; he made her feel as though she had never left.  
  
"Yes, I know Professor Snape, but I was not expecting the two feet of snow that I was greeted with upon apparating at the gates. I'm afraid I was a little stunned, I do apologize."   
  
Snape was obviously taken aback at her casual offering of an apology—in all the years that she had been his student he had never heard her openly admit to being in the wrong. He shook his head slightly before smiling (slightly) down at her—now it was Hermione's turn to be taken aback.  
  


"It's quite all right Miss Granger, you are only a few minutes late and I dare say that you were expecting someone who would be a little more lenient in matters of tardiness than I am." She laughed cautiously at the pun towards his unrelenting strictness about punctuality before he was to continue. "Albus was planning on meeting you himself, but found that Minerva had something she desperately needed to speak to him about, no doubt something of dire Gryffinsor importance, like the Quidditch trials. So he sent me instead." It was here that Snape had reverted back into his old ways as the harshness that intoned in his final sentence gave Hermione the firm belief that he would have rather been anywhere but standing next to her at this moment. _Why does he have to be so damn difficult! Can't he just decide to be nice and stick to it? It's like he suddenly realized he was being to friendly and decided it would be better to withdraw._

***

  
  


Severus Snape looked determinedly past Hermione's astonished face—he had been too nice to her before! _I can't have her running about with the foolish idea that I am going to be her friend, she doesn't need another friend. Let her run to Potter or Weasely with her problems, not me! _

"Well let's go girl, I haven't got all day" he stated a little more harshly than he had intended, for she jumped noticeably at his voice. She was nervous around him. Severus laughed at this. He had never imagined that after all these years, he would still be able to strike fear into _this_ girl. If it had been any other student he wouldn't have doubted for a minute (they had all been stupid and weak), but Hermione Granger had _never_ been his inferior, she had always been an equal. That was why he had had to work extra hard at keeping her down; better to toughen her up for the 'real world'—it could use a mind like hers.

They began walking down one of the more obscure corridors that led to the entrance of Dumbledore's office. He hated the way that man had to let the passage change every time a person went down it, there was always the very real chance that he, Severus Snape, might get lost. _And, Oh, wouldn't little Miss Gryffindor Perfect just adore that_, he thought venomously. She wasn't saying anything—_that_ was unusual. Whenever she had been in his class it was like she couldn't shut up and now, when the silence between them was becoming incredibly uncomfortable, she felt the need to turn a taciturn disposition. _Well, I'll be damned if **I'm** going to be the one to make small talk._ Severus abhorred small talk.

When they finally reached Dumbledore's office they came across another little problem.   
  
"Damnit, the password!" Severus whispered, a little to loudly, to himself.  
  
"Don't you know it?" she piped up suddenly. Was that a hint of amusement in her voice?  
  
"Of course I don't know it Miss Granger, this is not my office, and the Headmaster would be making my life far _too_ easy if he had simply told me the password ahead of time!" Snape was in a conundrum—he knew that the password was usually some Muggle sweet, but he really didn't know any of those. The best strategy at the moment was to name as many as he could remember.  
  
"Um…Mars Bar, sherbert lemon, gum drop, jelly bean, M and M…oh holy hell!" The gargoyle stood transfixed, and Severus could swear that he detected a smile on that little bastard's face. Finally Hermione gave it a go.  
  


"How about…Milk Tray?" It seemed a stupid suggestion, and name for a candy, but as soon as it left her lips the large statue began to move, eventually revealing the familiar staircase leading to the wooden door of Dumbledore's office. Severus turned and looked at Hermione for the first time since their meeting in the hallway. She was smiling, but not in a smug, overbearing way—just smiling, sweetly. 

The Headmaster's Office was the same as Hermione could recall it from the very few occasions she'd been there. She sat in the comfortable wingback chair to the right of Dumbledore's desk while Snape took the one on the left. Again, the silence. Snape refused to make the first move and Hermione knew it, she would have to acquiesce. 

"So…"  
  
"Miss Granger, if you are attempting to make small talk then let me save both of us the trouble of mumbling through pointless pleasantries that will more than likely be lies on both our parts." He interrupted her so suddenly that she didn't have time to react, she instead just sat, frozen stunned.  
  


"How did you know I was going to make small talk Professor? I might have been going to tell you to sod off and leave the Headmaster and me to our business alone." Now it was Snape's turn to be stunned for she had spoken in such a sweet monotone that if he hadn't been paying attention to the words, their true meaning would have completely escaped him—she was calling his bluff. She knew damn well that he didn't want to speak with anyone, let alone her, and now she was practically challenging him to continue a verbal dialogue, and the really sad part was that she thought she was going to win. _Ha! I'll show her._

"Well, in a case such as that I would have to reply by telling you that Albus gave me strict instructions to sit in her with you until he returns. Probably doesn't want your nosy Gryffindor habits to get the better of you."

She was visibly shocked that he had arisen, but didn't let this deter her. "Hmm?" she said with an expression of fake pensiveness, "Perhaps he wants to speak to you as well, after me, but he concluded that it would be better to have you under my studious watch than let you skulk about the corridors plotting evil things to do to your potions class when they get back from holiday."

Severus appeared thoughtful for a moment before he pulled out a small black notebook and flipped through a few pages until finally stopping on the desired one. "Nope," he said earnestly while tapping his finger a couple of times on the little notebook page, " no, that cannot be it, for my daily 'Skulk About the Corridors' isn't scheduled until after dinner and right before 'Brooding about Chambers'." She laughed. Not an evil laugh like that of the Death Eaters, or an 'Amused at the Folly of Others' laugh that Albus usually had, but a real honest, happy laugh. He couldn't help but smile, and then before he knew it, he was laughing too. 

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A/N: If you liked the story, please tell me and I'll try to post the chapters a little sooner—I'm really forgettful so it's sometimes difficult to remember to update on a regular basis. Anyway, thanks for reading!!! :) 


	3. Offer of the Truth

—Hope you like this chapter, there's lots more Herm/Sev stuff so it should be interesting. Please R&R!!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognisable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations (Hehehehe!! ?) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)  
  


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**Chapter 3  
The Offer of Truth**  


That was the way Albus found them, both doubled up in his/her respective chair laughing heartily 'with' the other. Albus put a definite emphasis on 'with' because it was so rare to find Severus laughing 'with' anyone, he was usually laughing 'at' them. Suddenly Albus had a premonition that made him smile knowingly at the other two people in the room.

Once he had shut the door behind him, both Severus and Hermione abruptly stopped their antics and gave their full attention to the elderly wizard making his way towards them both. Albus turned towards Hermione and scooped her up into a warm fatherly hug.

"It's so wonderful to see you back at Hogwarts my dear." He pulled away and took a look into her eyes. "How are you doing? Better I hope than a couple of months ago, I really was worried about you for a time there." The question had been worded and spoken in such a way that made Hermione want to cry into the old man's shoulder—so that he could tell her it would all be OK. Severus looked utterly confused—he had know idea to what the Headmaster was referring and was even more bewildered when he saw a single tear roll down Hermione's cheek as she tried to smile and find her voice.

"I'm fine, really," she stated completely unconvincingly. Albus, however, only nodded his head and let the subject drop as he made his way to the highback chair behind his desk.  
  


"Well, I trust Severus has been keeping you thoroughly amused with his always bubbling personality?" Dumbledore could never help himself when it came to teasing Severus, the look on his face was always just too priceless. Hermione saw right through the Headmaster's little scheme and gave him a reproachful glare before breaking into a smile herself. Snape only continued to brood. Albus soon had finished amusing himself with Severus and continued with what he was going to say, "Hermione my dear, the reason that I requested your presence here at the school, is that I would like to offer you a teaching position. I figured that this would be a more fortuitous offer now as opposed to a year ago, seeing as you now have a newly acquired…how shall I say it, freedom?" Hermione smiled at his choice of words and the Headmaster gave her another knowing wink. He knew that this was all driving Snape absolutely crazy—to not be a part of a shared secret. "It is in the position of Arithmancy Professor, seeing as though Professor Vector has decided that she would like to retire to a tropical island where the main focus of her day will be working on her tan." Hermione was now in a blatant fit of giggles as she tried to picture the elderly old woman lying in a yellow striped lounge chair with a tropical drink melting in her hand—it was absolutely hilarious. Severus was thinking along similar lines, but would have rather had a classroom full of Longbottoms than allow the joint efforts of Hermione and Albus to break him. Dumbledore was, for once, the voice of reason.

"Well Miss Granger, what do you say? Do you think you are up to the task of teaching Arithmancy? I know that you received you degree from Eximius College at Oxford in Arithmancy and Potions, so I have no reason to doubt that there is anyone more qualified." She smiled widely at the elderly wizard before nodding in affirmation and agreeing to start right after winter holiday.

Within five minutes Hermione and Severus once again found themselves walking down another corridor, this time towards the Teacher's Apartments. Severus began sneaking glances at the girl next to him again as a question he was dying to ask weighed heavily on his mind. _Just ask her for Merlin's sake, she's practically a colleague now._ "Miss Grang-"  
  
"Please," she cut in, "If we are going to be working together, do you think we could cut the 'Miss Grangering' crap. It makes me feel like I'm eleven years old." It was more of a command than a request, but Severus nodded curtly anyway before continuing.  
  
"Hermione, did you really receive a degree in both Arithmancy and _Potions_?" Hermione stopped and turned towards the overbearing man before her.   
  


"Did you think that the Headmaster was lying Severus?" she questioned silkily, letting his name slide off her tongue in such a way as to make his spine quiver ever so slightly. "You know, just because you seem to try your hardest to keep any student from taking a liking to Potions, doesn't mean you _always_ succeed."

Severus tried his best to regain some composure, but it was hard. He had known that she had been good in Potions—she always knew her ingredients and technique inside and out—but the thought that she actually enjoyed it had strictly never crossed his mind, especially to the point of her pursuing a degree at the most advanced wizarding college on the planet. Stopping to think about it, though, he supposed this assumption to be based on the fact that he _had_ made it as miserable for her as he possibly could—a fact that he could only contribute to her driving him completely insane with her 'know-it-all' attitude. 

"Easy Severus," she said mollifyingly, interrupting his reverie, "Don't take it to heart, I'm sure you succeeded with all your other students—instilling in them a hatred for potions only rivaled by their hatred for you." She gasped and brought her hand to her mouth as soon as the last comment escaped her lips.

Severus turned an icy stare on her. "I…I'm so sorry Severus, I shouldn't have said that. It's just…well, I suppose I'm a little racked, what with the job offer, and having to move…and those damn Chudley Canons losing so badly this year." The last part had its desired affect as Hermione distinctly saw a smile creep onto his thin lips and then…bestill her heart…he laughed again. _ Twice in one day! Will wonders never cease?_

They continued their walk in silence until finally stopping at a large stone wall, tastefully hung with a portrait of William Shakespeare. Hermione stared curiously at it before turning her questioning gaze on Severus who, although he wasn't looking at her, said in a rather annoyed/amused manner, 

"Yes, Hermione, what is it?"  
  


"Well it's just that, I know that Professor Dumbledore is fond of Muggles and all, but I wasn't aware that he read their authors."  
  


"Mis…Hermione, Will Shakespeare is about as much a Muggle as I am," he pronounced tersely before giving the painting the password—_Magister_—and smiling to himself at the utterly dumbfounded look that blanketed her features. Leading the way down, Hermione had no choice except to follow him.

She was almost glad for his silent disposition as they walked down the dark corridor—it gave her a chance to observe the unfamiliar surroundings. They were, she surmised, in the wing that housed the teachers' apartments. It was fairly dark considering that large gothic windows flanked the rest of the castle's hallways—_this_ corridor was lit, even during midday, by glowing torches on the walls. Hermione strained her eyes to examine each of the doors as they passed by them—simply by looking at them you could tell what teacher lived where. A door covered all in ivy must have been Professor Sprout's while another decorated with various shimmering gold sparkles and wands must have been Professor Flitwick's. As they kept walking though Hermione had yet to see any door that screamed Snape, until, that is, they reached the very end. There were only two doors left before the hallway ran straight into a large wall with an empty gold frame. The door on the left was covered completely in black paint. _Typical_, she thought as she looked from the man in black to the door in black. Her attention to his door was suddenly diverted when she realised that the other door opposite his must be…hers. Snape saw the look on her face and read it famously.

"Well, I seriously doubt that I brought you down here to have a spot of afternoon tea with me!" he said blandly before leading her over to her own blank door. "All the teacher's do their own doors. You have to put something up—Albus's idea." _Damn him! He was becoming almost as good as the Headmaster at that whole mind reading thing. _It seemed like every question she thought, he answered before she could get it to her lips. She would get back at him for being so damn omniscient, she would paint her door in bright shining pink frills with little red hearts all over the place—no, she wouldn't do that, that would more likely make _her_ vomit before him.

The inside of her apartment was huge, far larger than her flat in London. The sitting room was simply astounding. It was two storied with an entirely open ceiling and all the walls were covered by bookshelves filled to capacity with thousands of books. The little circular wrought iron stairway in the back led to the second story, which was simply another level of books. She had never seen anything more beautiful.

Severus watched the young woman before him with mild curiosity. She was really quite amazing. Just when he thought he had her categorized permanently as 'The Annoying Gryffindor Know-It-All', she had to turn around and do something completely breathtaking, like crying at the site of all these books. And she was—she really was staring in silent awe as tears spilled down her cheeks. When she turned around to look at him, though, he could see that it wasn't just a couple of dusty old tomes causing her reaction. There was something else. She didn't really show it, but he could see it as clearly as glass when he looked into her eyes. There was so much pain in her there; she wasn't the girl he had taught anymore—he doubted that she ever really was. 

"Gods, I'm sorry," she apologised once she turned around to face him. "I must appear to be an emotional mess with all the crying I've done today, but it's been a long time since I've been able to enjoy being…well, me. I've really lost who I was these last seven years and its very overwhelming to be me again," she confided in him. Although Severus didn't really know that he had been taken into her confidence, he could feel that whatever she was talking about was only a very minuscule piece to a larger problem. _How could she have lost herself? She always seemed so grounded in who she was, what made her change that?_

_"The better question," _a voice in his head spoke, _"would be 'who' made her change that?"_

Severus simply dismissed the voice before, turning once again to her and, after mustering up all the resolve he had, spoke, "That's all right Hermione, I know all to well what it is like to lose oneself over a course of time, it's just…well," the usually articulate man stumbled. _ Come on man, just say it!_ "You always seemed to be an extremely grounded young woman, full of the truth—never letting anyone change you, not even the wonder boys Weasley and Potter." 

Her flinch at the name 'Potter' would have been practically imperceptible to anyone—anyone, that is, except Snape. He saw it and became more confused than ever—_So Potter has something to do with this…maybe Weasley too._ He had always known that their 'perfect' friendship would be too good to last; but, at the expense of the woman before him, he was, for the first time, sorry to have judged so astutely.

"Yes, well," she spoke in harsh, biting tones, "like you said, it can be very easy to loose oneself over the course of time—you _would_ know all about that wouldn't you…everything except the truth part that is." She was blatantly referring to his time as a Death Eater, and judging from the hurt inflection of her voice, was not likely to be sorry to have said this. Severus only a bit to his full stature and focused a hard stone-like stare that would have made even 'Wonderful Potter' himself cower like a three-year-old before him.

"The truth, Miss Granger," he noted with extra stress and precarious silk, "is that weakness is to be found in all creatures, and while mine persisted for only three years, yours seems to have lasted far longer. Foolishly blinded by the beauty of being 'Potter's Girl'?" he sneered cruelly. That had done it. Her face had blanched as white as Peeves and she was now visibly shaking with what might have been rage, sadness, hurt, or a combination of the three. Severus could have absolutely hexed himself for saying that, and for the fact that he kept on going. "Did the 'Boy Who Lived' live up to _all_ your expectations. Was he worth throwing away your very being. Was he…" 

He had been cut short, not by a slap across the face or a silencing hex, but something far worse. She looked up into his eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks—it wasn't like he hadn't seen her cry before, she just had only a minute ago, but to know that he was the cause of it. Not just by yelling at her in class, or calling her a 'know-it-all', but by being cruel, vindictively, heartlessly cruel. Her eyes held nothing but sadness and loathing—all in all, he would have preferred some sort of physical pain to having to look into her eyes and see that. It was something that he wouldn't forget for a long time—it would haunt his dreams, few though they were. He began to speak, but she held up her hand shakily in protest.

"Leave," she whispered dangerously, "Just leave." He gave her one last quick glance before sweeping out of the room, black robes billowing eerily behind him. 

* * *


	4. Night and Day

—*I can't believe that it has taken me soooo long to finally post this story—my life has been completely crazy, I'm finally moved into my college (only a thousand miles away from my friends, family, and everything that I know!) Oh well! I hope people will still read this story, and don't hold it against me that it took so long, somethings simply cannot be helped.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognisable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations (Hehehehe!!) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)  
  


* * *

**Chapter 4 Night and Day**

Once the door was safely closed and warded, only then did Hermione really break down. It was the worst one she had experienced since that horrible night that had been the cause of all her problems.

_No, that's not true_, a small voice spoke in the back of her mind, _You have no one to blame for the state that you are in except for yourself_.  
  


True, but Severus had been a real ass-hole—as usual. Taking a deep breath over and over again, Hermione slowly calmed the shaking and stopped the tears. She was so tired of crying and feeling bad—she just wanted to feel whole again. It had been so long since she had done anything for herself. 

She had graduated from Hogwart's with some of the highest N.E.W.T. scores in the history of the school—she was guaranteed a spot in the best universities in the world so she chose Oxford. Harry and Ron, however, felt that going to university was a waste of time when they could get perfectly good jobs at the Ministry, earning money, right away. 

"Yeah," she mused aloud, "With Harry riding off his fame, and Ron riding off Harry." It was a truly mordant thought, but true nonetheless—Harry had been placed as Assistant Minister of Magic while Ron became Harry's assistant. 

The years flew by and before she had even known it had begun, Hermione was in the middle of being courted by Harry. She had supposed that both he and Ron had thought it only proper that one of them should marry her; Harry had won due to sheer luck—the luck that he was born into a family named Potter. After university she got a mediocre job at the ministry as a researcher in the Muggle Studies Department where she spent her days going over hundreds of statistics relating to every aspect of Muggle life; the job was complete shit. The only perk it had was the superficial bonus of it being 'noble' work and therefore befitting the future wife of the future Minister of Magic, Harry Potter. 

All that time, everything after her three years at university, she had been like someone under the Imperius Curse—she wasn't herself, just Harry Potter's little girlfriend that he had known since he was eleven. She couldn't fight it…didn't fight it, at least, not until that night.

And now she was left like this—alone in an empty room full of the things that used to be important to her, things that she used to live for, but now, after years of suppression, she couldn't find the joy anymore. Walking quietly over to the large sofa located directly opposite the hearth, Hermione sank onto one of the cushions and sadly observed the room. 

Severus had been right, she was weak. She was weak to Harry Potter, because despite what anyone thought, she had loved him. Maybe not a passionate, lifetime love, but she did love him as the best and first friend she had ever had. She loved him as he was then and despised him as he was now—_how can that be possible?_ They were both the same person, or where they? Harry too had been right, the person he was, that boy, was gone forever. 

Slowly she curled up into a little ball in the corner of the heaping folds of the sofa and cried.

***

Severus Snape woke up the next morning with one of the worst headaches that he had ever experienced, which was quite astonishing considering his daunting experience as a Death Eater for Voldemort. Moving cautiously, he climbed off of the large four-poster and placed his feet onto the cold stone floor that seemed to characterize the castle. _Nothing like ice-cold stone to really make you want to get out of bed every morning_, he thought invidiously before slowly making his way to the little bathroom opposite his bed.

Only once he was under the influence of a drastically warming shower, did Severus allow the altogether unpleasant memories of Hermione Granger to invade both his thoughts and his very being…well maybe she hadn't been _completely_ unpleasant. In fact if he was in the mood for some brutal, uncharacteristic honesty, he would have to admit to himself that the only thing 'unpleasant' about her had been his own behavior. "Gods!" he groaned aloud, with the morbid satisfaction of knowing that if he had been aiming to offend her, he would have certainly accomplished that. Suddenly the warm water didn't seem quite so pleasant.

Severus soon found though that his only saving grace this particular morning was going to be his distinctive abhorrence for breakfast in the Great Hall, students or not—he was most definitely in no spirits to face _her_. He instead found it far more agreeable to simply sit by his fire and drink the habitual three cups of tea that the house-elves sent religiously, and brood over his horrifying behavior to Professor Granger. _Yes_. It was far safer to call her "Professor" inside his head; to call her anything else could lead to a section of thoughts and ideas that were clearly marked 'Do Not Disturb' in his mind.

He could not, for the life of him, figure why this 'woman' was having such a particular effect on him. She was nothing more than a former student now living across the hall from him. This particular thought caused him to cast a long stare at the door leading to her chambers only meters away—the image of her tear-stained face and the look of utter loathing in her eyes was once again dredged up into his visible memories. He cringed recalling it. No matter who she was, she didn't deserve to be treated in such a fashion by anyone.

"Even by the 'Evil Git' Professor Snape," he pronounced aloud while making the quick decision to go and see her directly.

Once outside her door, though, he was beginning to seriously regret ever having made such a haphazard choice—fortunately he was arrested in mid-knock by the all-together unpleasant voice of Minerva McGonagall strolling sternly towards her own door only a few down form his.

"Ah Severus, if you are looking for Hermione, I believe that you will find her in the library," she said with an obvious air of 'I-Know-Something-You-Don't-so-there!'

Severus, really being in no mood for such games of intellect, which he often found quite tiresome with Minerva, simply turned on his heel as if he had never been planing to knock on her door to begin with. "As if I would expect her to be found anywhere else, _Minerva_," he sneered, drawling out her name mockingly, causing the color to creep furiously into the Transfiguration professor's cheeks. The elderly woman came storming up towards him with full rage emanating from her.

"Now listen here Snape," she yelled in such a fierce tone that Severus took a step back, "I may not like you, and you certainly don't care that much for me, but you had better leave that girl alone. She's been through enough in the past few months; the last thing she needs is you sending her into another bought of depression." It was apparent to Severus that everyone seemed to know something about Hermione's past that he didn't, and what was this about depression? 

If Minerva noticed the confused look on the dark man's face, she certainly made no particular effort to discern it from his usual sullen appearance—she instead gave him one last snarl of disapproval before walking briskly back to her own quarters and slamming the door rather forcibly. 

Snape was now at a loss as to what to do. Walking across the hall was one thing, but to pursue her all the way to the library just seemed absurd. In fact now that he thought more heavily on the subject, the girl may not have been quite as upset at his comment as she had seemed—perhaps her crying might have been a result of the day's injustices and not his behavior to her._ Why would she take anything **I** say that seriously anyway; no one really cares what I think._ To Snape that was the truth, he really just didn't believe that any rational person would care what he thought, why should they? He was a former Death Eater for Circe's sake, they didn't have people that valued their opinions—that would be too much like having friends, and Death Eaters certainly didn't have those.

Feeling more dismal than usual, Snape made up his mind that he needed to go to the library in order to research a few articles from the Restricted Section. He wasn't going to look for her; he wasn't. However, if she should happen to still be residing there then there was really nothing he could do about that.

Turning swiftly towards the empty gilt frame hanging at the dead end to the hall-way, Snape muttered a few words causing an iridescent shiver to slide across the stones. He walked through and was directly deposited into the hallway outside the library.  
  


~***~

  
  


Hermione Granger, arched stiffly over a stack of books in a rather secluded area of the Hogwarts library, was in serious need of some sort of repose. She had been huddled for hours—ever since the first light of dawn peaked her Circadian rhythm—studying the perpetrating aspects of the _Antiaccio_ charm. This particular charm had always been one of her favorites, but the definite skills needed and the effect they could have on the performer had always been a mystery to most wizards—a mystery that Professor Granger was dead set on solving.

Well at least she had been.  
  
Now, after five hours hunched over volumes upon volumes of circumspecting information, she was damn near ready to give up. There was also the added distraction of last night's occurrences.   
  


It seemed as though the more effort she put into not reflecting on what that bastard had said, the more she couldn't seem to push the thoughts out of her mind. To be perfectly honest, it was an infuriating sort of Catch-22. 

_Why am I letting him get to me like this? He's not the sort of person whose opinion I think highly of, so what does it matter if he thinks I'm a weak, useless, pathetic…_  
  


"That's it!" she shouted loudly enough for Madame Pince to throw her a decidedly filthy look and wave her wand in her direction. If there was one person besides Dumbledore that you didn't want to mess with in Hogwarts, it was definitely Madame Pince. Hermione gave her a tacit sort of apology before laying her head down upon the copy of The Indefinitely Extended History of Charm Work in Europe and Asia Major obstructing her access to the desk.

The truth was that no matter how much she told herself that she didn't want to think about Severus Snape, in reality the only thing she really felt in the mood for was to curl up in a large downy armchair and brood long and hard over the enigmatic aspects of that particular man's personality. 

He was such a mystery. It had seemed, for a short period of time yesterday, that he could be almost…well, pleasant was the only word for it. He laughed with her, smiled and had even thrown out a few comical phrases of his own—something that was so rare that even mentioning it to another person was likely enough to get her thrown into St. Mungo's. Joking was not Severus Snape's known demeanor.

But then, before you could say "Root of Asphodel" he had transformed back into 'Smarmy Git' mode—distributing insults as Dumbledore would riddles. 

Still though, there was something about him that made Hermione wary of falling back into her old habits of simply writing him off as puzzle with missing pieces and, therefore, not worth solving. Maybe the pieces weren't missing, just hidden—perhaps even by the puzzle itself.

No, she could not simply abandon him. Couldn't sit back and watch him sink further and further into himself; only too well did she know the dangers of allowing the soul to die. 

Perhaps it was thinking too much that she could save him, but Hermione Granger, at least the old and recently rediscovered Hermione Granger, had never backed down from a challenge.

_ And Circe knows that man is one hell of a challenge if nothing else._  
  


* * *

~Yay another great chapter...well, maybe not, but at least it was full of semi-correct grammar :) R&R pretty please!!! 


	5. Hermione Granger, in The Library, with T...

~Yay! Another posted chapter which, only through the tactful persuasion by flattery of Sara, has seen the light of the Internet dawn so early. I really didn't intend on posting it until I finished Chapter 8 (I like to work ahead); however, it is amazing what a little first hand flattery can do for a person. Therefore, I will give her own delightful creation a little plug—If any of you have journeyed into the world of Tamora Pierce, there is a wonderful story by the name of Travel to the Past that Sara wrote based on that world. It can be found under her pen name Ariel and is storyid: 153971. Try it out, it's wonderful.  
  
~YA, back to the shameless plug of my own story instead of another's. Hope you like this chapter; I think its fairly spiffing! Thanks to all the reviewers including Ariel!!! Yay! Although I fear there will be no "Cute Virgin Sex Scenes" in my story! [Grins evilly, steepling fingers in a decidedly Snape-like fashion]  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognisable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations (Hehehehe!! ?) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)  
  


* * *

**Chapter 5   
Hermione Granger…in The Library…with The Book**  
  


As soon as Severus Snape walked into the Hogwarts Library, he knew that locating Miss Granger and making it look like a complete accident at the same time was going to be quite a challenge. It seemed as though the girl, like himself, had acquired a fondness for being alone in her studies.

Madame Pince was to be absolutely no help at all, seeing as though she was never particularly keen on speaking to Snape—at least not since the staff Christmas party three years ago where she had very loudly proclaimed him to be 'quite a dish'. His only other option would be to simply start on one side and work his way across, all the time praying that she had a preference for west end where he would begin. 

He searched almost every inch of the library before he finally located her in a far north-east little burrow where he was sure that even Albus wouldn't have known where to find her. She seemed, as he moved in closer to view her, to be resting her head on a tall pile of rather heavy reading. In fact, upon further observation, she appeared to be sound asleep

Unable to contain his relief with finally finding the young girl before him, Severus tumbled, rather haphazardly into the nearest chair—a good place to observe her. 

_That is if you didn't wake her up you great git!_  
  
Luckily, she hadn't awoken; she was still snoozing quite peacefully. To be perfectly honest, she looked more at peace now than he had seen her in the last day or so.   
  
_The only woman I know who would be more at peace in a library than anywhere else._  
  


And she was a _woman_, he finally conceded. Definitely not the awkward, gangly student that she had been all those years ago. She wasn't beautiful, at least not in the traditional sense. She had an almost scholarly beauty, if there was such a term. Her skin was pale and smooth from all the time spent in doors, and her hair was still curly, but had settled down into a smooth natural flow of cinnamon brown ringlets that tumbled gracefully down her back—not at all like the haphazard short cuts that seemed to be in fashion among the female inhabitants of Hogwarts. Graceful, that's what she was, graceful. 

At that moment the creature in question stirred, gave an arching yawn and, loosing balance, toppled out of her chair, scattering books and papers all over the floor. Snape gave an exasperated sigh. 

"Miss Granger, you certainly know how to shatter a misconception," he scolded with more amusement than his usual acid, before kneeling down to gather a few loose sheets of parchment spread about his feet.   
  
"What _are_ you talking about Professor?" She continued to scurry about the floor in a frantic concern that Severus found almost cute. _Cute? What the hell kind of word is that?_  
  
"Nothing Miss Granger," he replied curtly, "it is no longer of any importance." Reaching for the last sheet, Snape stood up and thrust the papers into her outstretched hands. "I believe these are yours."  
  
"Thank you," Hermione muttered through gritted teeth. She was obviously trying very hard to keep her temper in check.   
  
Waiting until he caught her eye, Severus dropped all tone of harshness from his voice before answering, "You're welcome."   
  
But he did not break the gaze.  
  
He continued to look into her eyes and she too seemed unable to pull hers from his. Merlin in the First Circle, when did her eyes obtain those flecks of gold?   
  
Finally, a deep blush creeping up her cheeks, Hermione hesitated before dropping her eyes to the floor and moving back into the recently abandoned chair. Waving her hand elegantly before her, she asked him to take a seat.  
  
"Are you sure that I'm aloud Miss Granger?" he teased, all sarcasm long forgotten.   
  
"Well," she began with a fictitious air of genuine thoughtfulness, "I suppose that it will be all right for now." He bowed and then sat down in the chair opposite her own. He was barely able to glimpse her head over all the books.  
  


In full seriousness he spoke. "Before I'm even going to venture a guess at _this_ [pointed gesture to the books sprawled before him] I want to ap…apologize for my behavior yesterday—what I said was completely uncalled for." The poor girl looked like he had just sprouted wings. "Are you all right?"

"No, no, it's just that, I wasn't expecting an apology—you don't seem like the type." It was honest at least.  
  


Snape squirmed a bit in his seat, a little annoyed at her reaction—it wasn't like he'd never said he was sorry before, it just didn't happen that often. "Despite what you and your band of merry men may have thought about me at school, Miss Granger, I am willing to admit when I have made a mistake, as is the case here. Don't push you luck with me." 

Hermione laughed a bit at that before replying quietly that she would try her best. He could only suppose that she found his tortures amusing.   
  
"All the same though," she continued softly after a moments pause, "Thank you for the apology—it does mean a great deal more than you know. Besides, I thought we had dispensed with the well-worn formalities?."  
  


***

  
  


_Good gods, what was the world coming to?_ In all her years as a student, Hermione would have never ventured to guess that one day Snape would be sitting before her offering his humblest—at least as humble as was possible for _him_—apology. Despite her rather calm features, on the inside, Hermione was in a state of shock.

On the other side of the table Severus gave a simple nod to her question about their titles before shifting quite a bit in his seat, as if he couldn't quite see her.   
  
"Merlin, the books!" she exclaimed aloud before reaching out to lift four rather large volumes from between them. Snape grabbed another pile, following her example and putting them off to the side. "Sorry, Severus, I do have quite a few here don't I?"  
  
He nodded fervently in agreement before picking up one of the larger ones and flipping cursorily through the first few pages. He clicked his teeth and shook his head in a rather disapproving manner before turning back to her.  
  


"Hermione, I really don't think that this is level-appropriate subject material for post-graduate students, let alone those here, still in primary education," he teased amusedly before snapping the book shut loudly. "Why in the world are you pouring over such books?" Merlin, he almost sounded genuinely concerned!  
  
Hermione gave him a wearisome sort of grunt before setting off into what she supposed to be an over zealous explanation to her work in the library.  
  


"I keep looking and looking, but there doesn't seem to be any explanation in any of these books for the type of reactions that are occurring as a result of its use. I've worked with _Antiaccio_ before with some of my tutoring sessions at Oxford, and everything seems perfectly fine as long as the individual is calmly sending an object to someone else. However, the second you incorporate any feelings of malice into the equation, the performer seems to feel and feed off of the harm that they are trying to inflict—it's like a cycle that feeds the rage. I don't know really how to explain it," she finished lamely, slumping her arms onto the table before her and resting her head into them.

It was funny really, Severus almost looked as though he had humored her by actually listening to her ramblings. But that was absurd, why would he give two knuts about her problems with Charm's research?

"Why are you even studying this at all—it has nothing to do with Arithmancy," he questioned pointedly after a few moments deliberation.

"It's a pet project really," she honestly answered. "Besides, Arithmancy is the study of magic and its mathematical relationship to the laws governing the natural world around it. _ Antiaccio_ causes strange miscalculations as far as displacement and equilibrium projections go." Severus looked legitimately thoughtful now, as if on the verge of solving an equation.

"Hermione," he began again, startling her a bit into looking up at him. "I think that your problem lies in a lack of…suitable 'materials'." Hermione stared at him, not quite comprehending what it was he was saying. Snape gave a bit of a huff and leaned in closer to the middle of the table. Hermione, catching the hint, and the beseeching look in Snape's eyes, did likewise.

"What I'm talking about Miss Granger are books on the Dark Arts." He spoke in the most hushed of whispers that sent his warm breath spilling across the brief gap between them. He smelt of mint, she thought idly before realizing that he was talking about using _Dark_ books. Her face must have clearly expressed this as Snape got a blatantly amused look on his face while he moved back into a smug lounging position in his chair. "Really, I'm surprised that a smart witch, such as yourself, didn't recognize the more unpleasant implications of such reactions. I would…." He stopped, leaving the last bit to hang in the air, looking at her with hesitation and something else…what was it?

Whatever it was, the emotion was gone from his face once again; as if he were trying to disguise that he ever had an interest in what she was talking about to begin with. Hermione gave an inward sigh of exasperation at his complete penchant towards the continually enigmatic.

Obviously he was going to force coercion into any information.  
  


Biting the bait, "You would what, _Professor_?" Snape seemed moderately unnerved, like he hadn't expected her to actually respond. _Well of course I was going to respond! It's not like I find his company so completely repulsive that I wouldn't care for his opinion!_ In fact she didn't find his company repulsive in the least.

"I would suggest, Hermione, that you come down and take a look through my personal library, there are more than a few books available there on that 'particular' topic." _Of bloody course there were, like I was expecting anything else!_  
  


"I…I would love to—that is, if you wouldn't mind," she replied a little more enthusiastically than intended, though with a nice reserved save at the end. It probably wouldn't do well to seem too excited at the prospect of being alone in Snape's rooms with the man himself. Wait, why was she excited at all?

_The books obviously…yes, that's it, the books._  
  


"_Hermione_," Snape suddenly growled, leaning closer into her again—the swirling of peppermint and musky soap made her physically dizzy. "I would not have asked you if I minded too much!" And with that he abruptly stood up, allowing for a frigid blast of musty air to replace the space once inhabited by his warm presence. "Eight o'clock" was all he muttered before turning suddenly and sweeping from her presence. 

Gods, she felt sick, as a mixture of intense emotions swept through her body, each one as ambiguous as the next. All she knew was that these feelings were like nothing she had experienced before—not with Harry, not with anyone.  
  
_Shit…Harry._  
  
Suddenly the memory of him didn't seem so terrible. And neither did the realization that she had just made a date with Professor Snape.  
  


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~Yay!, Although seriously, who would be that upset about making a date with Snape anyway! [Smile] Certainly not me!!   
So there it is, chapter five, hope you liked it...please review!!!  
  
P.S. If any of you were wondering, the idea for the title of this chapter is a throw out to the game Clue (which I don't own !) If any of you have played it—if not then you've led a truly deprived life—you will recognize the old "Miss Scarlett...in the Kitchen...with the Candlestick"!   
I thought it was witty, but as I am often told by certain people across the hall from me, I am not funny in the least. :( 


	6. Omniscience and Amadeus

~Hello, welcome back to the party! I hope that you enjoy this chapter, I think that it is pretty good. Thanks to all the reviewers, especially Jade who reaffirmed the fact that I might just have comic tendancies (so there, Sara!) :) Thanks to everyone again!   
P.S. Majestyic: The title of chapter 5, was my attempt at a throw out to the came CLUE. (You know..."Col. Mustard, in The Kitchen, with The Wrench")  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognisable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations (Hehehehe!! ?) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)  
  


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**Chapter 6  
Omniscience and Amadeus **  
  


The corridors were cold this time of year, almost unbearably so if not for the aid of quite a few well-placed charms to keep the wind out. Severus gathered his cloak around him a bit tighter as he made his way back towards the teacher's quarters. 

By the time he reached the portrait hole of Shakespeare, he'd reached the regrettable decision that going to the library had been a bad idea. Needless to say, he was not in the most charitable of moods and, to the chagrin of the very man in question, the portrait was no where in site.

"Shakespeare!" he screamed in utter frustration, allowing his voice to bounce harshly from wall to wall all the way down the winding corridors. A few moments later, a very perturbed looking poet entered the frame. 

"I see no reason to shout, sir" William huffed most vehemently. Severus was losing what little patience he was known to possess.  
  
"_Magister_, now open the bloody door." The picture begrudgingly obliged with a not-so-silent mutter that left Severus seriously doubting that 'wanker' emerged from the realms of Middle English.  
  


Merlin's robes! Nothing had gone the way he'd expected it to. He had never intended to invite her to his rooms—to help her at all. Of course he'd also never intended to be so impressed by what she was studying or be so drawn in by the smell of vanilla that had slowly crept across the table as she moved about in her chair. Leaning in to talk to her had been strictly self-serving—there was no way that anyone could have heard or found them back there—he had just needed to be closer to her.

"Uggh!" he vented in frustration as he threw his body onto the old brown leather couch in front of the fireplace and rubbed his eyes firmly with the heel of his hands.

"I take it things are going well, Severus?" came the unexpected, yet characteristically predictable, voice of Albus Dumbledore from the far corner. Severus made no move to sit in a more controlled or dignified manner—this was one man that he felt as if his vain attempts at dignity were completely wasted upon.

"Yes, Albus. As always my life is nothing but sunshine and sugar wands." There was also no use, Severus had found, in pretending to be anything but a sarcastic soulless bastard for Albus, the man knew things about him that even Severus didn't fully comprehend. 

"Don't be so hard on yourself," the elderly wizard remarked pointedly as he moved into one of the two chairs flanking the sofa. Once seated, he very carefully removed a red sweet from the depths of his voluminous violet robes and set to work on the arduous talk of unwrapping it. After a few moments he dubiously popped the gem into his mouth before turning a studying gaze upon the younger wizard sprawled out on the couch. He hated it when Albus did this, studying him like a bacterium under glass.

"Yes, yes," he finally spoke in that knowing manner that many had learned to simply tolerate in one so omniscient over the years, "I think things will turn out just as they should." Severus exhaled as loudly and with as much exasperation as he could manage towards such a purposefully ambiguous statement. _ Riddles, the man lived for riddles!_

"Well, Albus, as reveling and enlightening a conversation this has been, I'm afraid that I've a few matters to attend to," Severus spoke with as much civility as was necessary for the old wizard to take the hint. The Headmaster only smiled genially at the obvious boot out the door, before getting up and walking towards the exit. Once at the door, he stopped and turned back towards the Potion's Master now working diligently to brew the most pungent tea possible.

"Oh, and Severus, you might want to straighten up a bit before Miss Granger arrives at eight." And he was gone.

Snape physically threw his half filled cup across the room before halting it in mid-air and muttering a quick reversal charm to place it calmly back on the kitchen table. 

"Damn him!" Why did everyone have to be so transparent to him? What gives him the right to act as walls with ears in everyone's personal lives in this school? Albus Dumbledore, however, was beyond reason—whether containing any or needing it in order to pry into anyone's life. Few rarely understood just how taxing being around him constantly could be. Subterfuge became something of dreams, which, Severus noted acidly, he was sure the Headmaster could see into as well.

Turning back to face the bulk of his rooms, he did have to begrudgingly admit that they could use a quick cleaning. With a swift swish and flick, the rooms sparkled—well, maybe sparkle was a bit to intense of a word, perhaps it would be better to say that the light was no longer absorbed by a thin layer of dust that had been aloud to settle on everything except the couch, his desk, and a small portion of the dining table at which he took his meals when not in the Great Hall. Somehow the room looked slightly less lonely. Glancing at the tall and numerous bookshelves covering most of the walls, Severus wondered idly what Hermione would think of it all.

***

  
  


Outside the tall gothic windows of Hogwarts' main corridor, Hermione could see the feather light flecks of snow wafting gently through the air, coming to rest of the many turrets and towers of the castle and lawns. She shifted the weight of the many books in her arms to a more comfortable position and continued her walk towards the teacher's apartments.

She was half-way down the corridor, and wishing seriously, for the first time ever, that she hadn't checked out quite so many books from the library, when her foot caught on a slight wrinkle in the floor runner and she was sent sprawling. Her books went flying forward as she fell face-first to the solid stone floor, catching her lip in her teeth as her chin smacked painfully with granite. The immediate taste of metal came to her tongue as the feeling of trickling liquid down her chin and onto the floor simultaneously caught her attention. In the distance she could hear a hurried pair of footsteps coming ever closer. She closed her eyes and prayed that it wasn't Snape.

"Oh good Merlin!" came the worried and unfamiliar voice seemingly belonging to the previous set of footsteps. Arching her neck slightly to one side, she could just make out his heavy black boots and the hem of his deep navy robes as they trailed the ground and then abruptly halted in front of her line of sight. Suddenly a fair male face, crowned in a flow of dirty blond hair crouched before her, a pleading look in his eyes. "Listen I'm going to try and lift you up, there doesn't appear to be anything broken." Slowly he helped Hermione to her feet, grasping her hand to support her and levitating her books into a neat pile in the air. "You know it would be more helpful to use magic when it comes to these heavy books…oh your lip," the stranger said, pulling a large white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing her bloody lip slightly. Hermione only smiled warmly. "Come, let's get you to Poppy."

Within minutes of Hermione entering the infirmary, she was instantly back in her days as a student—Madame Pomfrey flittering about, not letting her do a thing by herself that might cause even the slightest aggravation to her condition.

"Well," she huffed importantly as she had cast the last spell on Hermione's now healed lip, "it really is no surprise to see her back here Professor Malbaton. She was constantly here as a student, it was only a matter of time before I saw her again. There you are dear, all patched up."

"Thank You Poppy," she muttered sarcastically at the retreating back of the hospitable mediwitch, before giggling slightly and turning back to the form, of who she could only assume was Professor Malbaton, sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room. "And thank you too…Professor Malbaton was it?" she questioned lightly. The nervous young man swept gracefully over to the bed where she was sitting, fingering the slight redness of her lip that was the only remains of the deep gash that had been there moments before.

"Sorry," he began, "I suppose that I was so caught up in helping you that I forgot to introduce myself." Hermione silently marveled at how upon leaving the lips of a different man—Severus Snape to be more precise—that entire phrase could have carried a completely opposite meaning. As was, there was nothing but warm affection and substance to his words. "The name's Amadeus Malbaton." He quickly extended his hand which she grasped warmly, giving it a fervent shake.

"Hermione Granger."  
  


"I know that…I recognized you from your pictures with Harry Potter in the Prophet." Her features darkened considerably at the mention of his name. Severus would have caught it with ready perception. Amadeus didn't. "I am sorry to hear about your break-up by the way." Hermione pulled together her best genuine smile and thanked him with a thinly veiled mask of depression. 

"Amadeus…Mozart wasn't a wizard was he?" she said with a quick change of subject. Amadeus quickly brightened and took up the line with eager enthusiasm.

"Oh no, no. My parents were Muggles, not an ounce of wizarding blood anywhere." Hermione also brightened considerably at the thought of having another Muggle-born to talk to. "I'm afraid it came as quite a shock to my parents, finding out about wizards and all, especially with me being one of them. They were real great about it though." He had lost some of the cheerfulness in his voice at the mention of his parents, and Hermione knew exactly what the matter was—she experienced the same sinking of emotions every time she thought of her parents as well. 

"You drifted apart didn't you?" Amadeus looked up disbelievingly at her and Hermione was suddenly struck with the realization of what it must be like to be Albus Dumbledore—constantly seeing an astonished awe-struck look on his listeners faces. "It's no great leap," she explained, "the same thing happened to me with mine. In the first years they were supportive and excited, but being apart from me took it's toll—I'm an only child—and when I was home on holidays, I was wrapped up in this world they knew nothing about, talking about things that they could never fathom and slowly, a rift grew between us." Hermione paused for a moment thinking about how heart breaking it was to hear her mother muttering her usual good natured remark: 'Don't mind us Muggles'. "You know I never even told them about Voldemort, how could I? I mean, how do you begin to explain the kind of threat he was to not only the wizarding world, but their world as well?" And there was the crux of the problem—after years of schooling, Hermione could no longer count herself as being a part of her parents' world. They were something different from what she had become and there was no turning back to fix that. Feeling a slow trickle down her chin once more, Hermione supposed that her lip must be bleeding again. Only after wiping away nothing but clear liquid did she realize that she was crying. Amadeus was looking down at her sadly, his own eyes glittering a bit with a restrained wetness.

"I understand," he whispered softly and, placing a hand gently on her back, began to run lazy soothing circles along the tension at the base of her spine. It felt good to be understood in this capacity—so few wizards could understand this.

Hermione and Amadeus sat in the infirmary, on her small bed, for a while. They talked about growing up Muggles, first experiences with the wizarding world, and the prejudices they had come across as a result of their heritage. Hermione soon learned that Amadeus wasn't a gifted wizard, much in the fashion of Neville Longbottom; however, just like his childhood counterpart, he was very sweet and was as ready to share his own experiences as he was to listen to hers. It was only when he finally pointed out that they had missed dinner did Hermione become fully aware of what time it was.

"Oh holy hell, it's nearly eight o'clock!" she exclaimed, jumping off the bed and quickly grabbing a hold of the books she had been carrying earlier. Amadeus, thinking quickly, transfigured them into a smaller, more easily carried, pile. "Thank You." And she was gone out the door, leaving the poor man reeling from her erratic behavior at times.

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A/N: Yay, another chapter. Yes, Ashleigh, I understand that you think that Hermione uses far to much foul language, but in my opinion basing a 22 year old Hermione on her 11-14 year old canon would not, in my opinion, produce a very realistic or interesting character...so there :) Love Ya!  
Thanks to all the reviewers, and thanks for reading this chapter. Review Pretty Please!  
Concerning the name Amadeus: I actually got the idea of naming him from a country music song (I hate country music, I just happened to be flipping through CMT) when I heard the singer mention the name Amadeus...and I thought it had a very wizarding feel. 


	7. Woeful State

Yuckeey! I took an eternity to update! It's been one thing after another (sleeping, illness, reading, reading, reading, reading) So I decided that tonight, instead of doing what I should be doing—which is homework reading—I would update, yay!! Hope you like it. I can't remember if I did this with the last chapter title, but starting now, they are all kind of in reference to an absolutely wonderful sonnet by Wills (see if you can guess which one). I give him full credit for his genius—he rocks my world.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognizable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations (Hehehehe!! ?) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)  
  


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**Chapter 7  
Woeful State**  


It was precisely 8:02 by the time Hermione had managed to dash through castle to the remote location of the teachers' apartments. The delay was furthered by the fact that the years of student conditioning had taught her that this part of the edifice didn't even exist—at least to the student eye it didn't. The corridor where the rather large portrait of Shakespeare was located was, to all student purposes, simply a blank wall with nothing special or significant to cause it to stand out from the dozen or so other blank walls around the castle. An age configured charm, she now knew, made the corridor imperceptible to students, and this led her to wonder how many of those dozen other blank walls were really secret passages with charms configured to aspects of personality that she simply did not comply with. Hermione surmised that she would have to be as old, and omniscient per say, as Dumbledore before she would ever know all of the secrets that Hogwarts Castle contained.

Now there was just one more problem; the portrait containing Shakespeare, appeared to be sound asleep. _At eight o'clock in the evening? Oh for Heaven's sake!_

"Excuse me," she whispered quietly to the slumbering lyricist. There was no answer as he continued to sleep peacefully, head and arms resting unceremoniously on a large book that Hermione could only assume to be 'his' Complete Works. She giggled faintly at the notion before coughing a bit and repeating her earlier address a little louder. Finally the man woke and acknowledged her with a sleepy bow. "I am sorry to wake you, but I really must get in," she apologized profusely before his waving hand.

"At least you are more polite than that tall dark fellow that goes about as if he would the world be damned to the sub-celestial gates of hell." Hermione smiled knowingly and only slightly let the word 'Severus' slide past her lips before nodding politely and giving him the password. "Straight in her heart did mercy come," the poet muttered idly, once the door had closed again, to the now empty hallway before settling back down upon his stacks.

Hermione hurried past the blurred images of the many doors, straight to the one that she knew was harboring a likely miffed Snape. Stopping abruptly in front of that matte black which seemed to absorb what little light the hallway entertained, she checked her watch.

"Oh Merlin, it's…"  
  
"8:10, which means…"  
  


"I'm late, yes I realized that Severus there's no need to point it out. And yes, I would love to come in," Hermione simpered as she slowly slipped past the stiff frame of the Potion's Master who had, only moments before flung open the door with astonishing quietness and quickness of uptake in her speech. He immediately closed and warded the door once both were inside.

***

  
  


Severus was genuinely amused for once by how accurately he had predicted Hermione's reaction to be to his quarters—usually his predictions were grim and only led to his annoyance once fulfilled. He watched her surreptitiously out of the corner of his eyes as she walked around in what could only be described as a state of complete awe. He noticed the way she absentmindedly removed her outer robe and placed it on the back of one of the wingback chairs by the fire along with a miniature pile of books, all the time entranced by the wall-to-wall built-in book shelves that housed his "extended" collection. She strolled open-mouthed, occasionally tracing her fingers delicately along the spine of book that caught her particular interest, all the time seemingly forgetting that he was even in the room with her. Finally, after a few minutes, she turned to him, her eyes sparkling in anticipation—he remembered that look well, as he had seen it on her face the first day of Potions so many years before. How it pained him to think of the quickness with which he, and his teaching methods, had removed such an eager innocence from her and every other gifted student he had taught.

"I…Gods, I've never seen such a collection of books by one individual." He wanted to laugh out loud at such a comment. She couldn't really be serious—the collection at Snape Manor was ten times larger than this; not at all to the parity of those of the other Old Blood families in the wizarding world. The damn Malfoy's had a library that made the one at Hogwarts look like a foyer. 

"Hermione," he questioned honestly, "you're not serious are you? This doesn't even rival the average collections of most of the larger families." He saw suddenly the way blush had slowly slinked into the slight dip of her cheeks, and became conscious of the fact that she had been in earnest. Quickly deciding not to press the subject further, he chose the more obvious topic of conversation. "Hermione, why don't you start on that end of the stacks and work your way through looking for anything that might be of relevance. I'll brew some tea." It was really said as more of a command than a question and he noted bitterly the way his voice always seemed to take on a domineering tone when he was unsure of a situation; Hermione, though, seemed completely un phased by this, setting right off to look through the lower shelves at the far end of the room. Severus set to work on the tea.

As a comfortable silence settled upon the room and the tea pot was content to wait for it's water, Severus began calling a few of the books he suspected might contain clues off of the shelf where he would skim through them and place them at one end of the rather large dining table. By the time the water had boiled and the tea had thoroughly steeped, Hermione already had a large pile of books in her hands and was maneuvering her way to the table, when she passed directly behind Snape. He barely had time to breathe in the soft scent of vanilla as it wafted pass before he noticed her trip and, relying solely on his quick reflexes, he swung around, catching her by the middle as she was about to fall face forward to the ground. The books went flying to the ground, long forgotten as Severus pulled her gently to his body, and her feet. She was so close now that he could feel the heat radiating through his black shirt from her ruddied cheeks. 

Suddenly the room was warmer and brighter at the same time—although Snape couldn't begin to fathom why. All he was aware of was her soft curves folded into his arms, and the way her smell was intoxicating his senses, saturating his blood with a scent that he was positive would never come off, no matter how hard he scrubbed. His breathing had become shallow, ragged, and, he noted with no little amount of bewilderment, her's seemed to be the match of his. Slowly he tuned his head downwards to look at her. He barely had enough reserve to catch his breathe when his eyes connected with the golden brown ones staring contentedly up at him. The bewitching flecks of gold were back, but there was something else, something that was completely foreign to Severus, having never seen it in the eyes of anyone _he_ had looked upon. Suddenly regaining his senses, he slowly released his arms from around her—a move that he would curse to hell and back later that night, in the cloaking darkness of his bedroom—and took a small step backwards.

Hermione too, seemed to gain her composure as she moved her eyes to the floor and then laughed a bit. "Thanks. I really am the epitome of grace, huh? That's the second time that's happened today—not counting falling out of my chair in the library," she put in when she saw his raised eyebrow. Shaking her head in good-humored disapproval she added lightly, "At least this time I didn't end up in the infirmary." Severus was suddenly worried. _How had she managed to land herself in Poppy's care?_ He asked her as much without sounding as concerned as he wouldn't allow himself to admit he was.

"Oh it was stupid really. I was carrying some books from the library and tripped on the rug, biting a rather painful gash into my lower lip." Severus examined it briefly—besides looking completely alluring, it also looked completely perfect. _Stop it, man!_ Hermione must have noticed his scrutiny because she continued. "Oh it's fine now, Poppy really is a wonder-worker—it's just lucky that Amadeus found me, I didn't have enough common sense to actually get up myself." Severus visible started at this, completely unable to account for the emotions he was now experiencing. It made him angry somehow—he couldn't explain it, but somehow, he was incomprehensibly angry with her and this man.

***

  
  


Hermione could almost swear that she had seen Snape flinch, quite noticeably, at the mention of the name Amadeus. 

"So you met our newest Defense Against Dark Arts teacher?" he asked in a rather strained voice that made her quiver just slightly.  
  


"Oh, is that what he teaches? You know we sat and talked in the infirmary for over three hours and he never did mention what he taught." It was incredible how she had never even thought about that until now. And this time she was sure she had seen him quake at the mention of how long they had been sitting there.

"Well, it seems that apart from him being a third-rate wizard, he's no manners as well," Severus spoke sardonically.

_How dare he!_  
  


"How dare you! Do you even know him?" she queried astonishedly. She couldn't believe that after his idiotic behavior the previous night, here he was, doing the same damn thing again. As if reading her mind, Severus drew a haggard sigh and took a seat in at the head of the kitchen table, placing his head into his hands. 

"Listen Hermione, I don't want to do this every time we come into each other's company, and although I do enjoy a lively game of wit matching on most occasions, tonight I'm really not up to it." 

She wasn't sure what exactly compelled her to do it—perhaps it was how tired and alone he looked sitting at the head of a large empty table where she imagined he took most of the meals that she did not see him in the Great Hall at; or maybe it was the fact that she was damn near positive that he had never shown himself quite so vulnerable to anyone except Dumbledore. Either one, the result was still the same as she walked over to his side and sat in the chair to his left, placing her arm lightly on his own. She immediately felt him tense from the contact, pulling away ever-so-slightly before he was sure that she wasn't going to do the same, and relaxed—even allowing her leave to stroke his arm lightly with her thumb. She had no idea how close she was to that blemish which marked the thoughts of his waking and sleeping hours with images of the darkest nightmares. 

Cautiously he lifted his head, revealing a pair of eyes that could be so closed, yet so revealing at the same time—even now she wasn't sure whether she was seeing pain or happiness, maybe a mixture of the two. He pulled one of his hands away from his face and, bringing it towards her own still resting upon his forearm, he gently covered it—bringing their skin into a contact that felt so intimate Hermione blushed from the thoughts that invaded her mind. Tingles, there were actual, physical tingles shooting from the top of her hand all the way up her spine—if she concentrated hard enough she could almost feel the charge crossing each individual synapse in her nervous system. His skin was warm…she had expected something cooler, more serpentine—the thought almost made her laugh aloud, and she would have if not for the fear of that one action bringing an end to this glorious feeling pulsating through her being. It had never been like this with Harry.

Harry.  
  


Pulled cruelly from her reverie, she released the breath she was unaware had been kept in suspension, and moved enough for him to waver and finally withdraw his hand, allowing the cold air to come crashing mercilessly back down upon the skin. She got up and moved towards the books on the floor, picking them up slowly in order to buy more time with her thoughts. What was happening? One minute she was concentrated solely on Severus and the next she was aware of Harry drifting just off the edge of her current meditations. Oh Merlin, what was she to do? 

Suddenly she felt as if she were drowning in memories and emotions that she had thought were long abandoned. Only the voice of Severus pulled her up for air.  
  
"Pardon? What were you saying?" she asked a bit confusedly, having missed what he said the first time he'd tried to catch her attention. He answered with an almost unnerving degree of equanimity and patience.  
  
"I was saying that since I didn't know Professor Malbaton, perhaps you could enlighten me." How did he manage that? How did he manage to make her fibers stand on end like infant sprouts of grass reaching up for the warmth of the spring sunshine? Having enough sense to regain her wits, her mouth seemed to begin the story perfectly despite the fact that her brain was still stuck back on his 'unnerving equanimity'.  
  
"Well, his name is Amadeus Malbaton…named after the composer of course." Severus interrupted her rather speedily here.  
  
"Muggle-borne I suppose," he sneered in a way different form the ones she remembered in class—completely devoid of its usual acid.  
  


"Yes," she baited teasingly, "And why do you say that as if it was a foregone conclusion." Snape stood up and taking one step to the counter and one step back, placed a cup of tea in front of her at the table. She sat down.

"Simply because," he continued once the tea had been prepared to liking, "only a Muggle would be so presumptuous as to name their child something hideous like 'Amadeus'." Now she really had to laugh—Snape stared at her in mock horror.

"Oh really?" came her choked reply through giggles. "I wouldn't think it nearly as presumptuous as naming your son after a Roman emperor." She caught the smile as it passed his lips—a smile of ill-veiled pride. "And besides," she continued, bringing her knees up to her chin and settling comfortably into the overly large upholstered wooden chairs, "with names like Albus, Cornelius, and Filius running ramped, I hardly see the harm in something like Amadeus." Silence fell over the room for a moment as she absentmindedly traced the diamond pattern of green and silver embroidered onto the chair. Before she could stop the words from coming they did. "Also, it's...nice…to have someone who I can talk to—relate to." She didn't dare look in his eyes for some reason.

His voice was soft and fully interested.  
  
"Relate how?"   
  
She thought for a long moment, forgetting how to put into the words the feelings that hadn't needed to be spoken with Amadeus.  
  


"Relate to growing up in the Muggle world only to find out at age eleven that everything you'd been taught was wrong." Fortified by the words coming suddenly, she lifted up her eyes to his. They met, and she continued to hold his gaze while she spoke. "You have no idea what that is like—suddenly going from being the smartest, most knowledgeable person at my school, to being someone who knew nothing…I mean absolutely bloody _nothing_. Sure I was excited, but also scared out of my mind. I'd never met another wizard before in my life. But, I bought the books and studied as hard as I could possibly study—working with this absurdly vain hope that I would, on the first day of school, once again be the best. I wanted so desperately to prove myself," she strained, a few stray tears working slowly down her cheeks as she recalled that desperate child. "I wanted to prove myself in anyway that I could, but from the moment I stepped through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ , I was constantly reminded that nothing I did was good enough. And come to find out, I was now a minority—something that I had, honestly, never been faced with in Muggle life. All of the sudden I knew what it was like to be hated simply for the way I was born—something I had no control over. I needed so terribly for someone to reach out to and commiserate with, but there was no one. No one…until Harry and Ron." The words were barely choked out as she recalled the tacit forming of friendship between the trio after the incident with the troll on Halloween. Severus looked as if he was going to stop her, but she pressed on, needing to verbalize these feelings that she had kept inside for so long. "For the first time I knew what it was like to be accepted and loved—they were all the friends I needed and while I knew that it was probably more a friendship of convenience of situation, they were still there for me. However, as great a friend as Harry and Ron were, they still couldn't relate to the feelings I was experiencing. Ron had grown up a wizard, and Harry, while he had grown up a Muggle, was treated so badly that he was desperate for any change." 

Hermione saw a severe question flicker through Snape's eyes and almost couldn't believe what it had revealed. _Oh holy Circe, he doesn't know! She would have laughed if it wasn't so pitiably ironic._

"Jesus, Severus you never knew did you?" His eyes clearly said that he didn't even if his face revealed nothing. "I can't believe that all that torturing over how famous he was, and how easy everything was for him, and you, the King of Irony Reveling, didn't even know the immense paradox in your own words." Impatience was written clearly on his face, and Hermione knew that if she didn't tell him soon, she would see a side of Snape that she hadn't known since the darkest days of Hogwarts. "Severus…he was abused." He clearly looked unimpressed. 

"In what way? Did the Muggles not give him the respect he deserved as the Boy Who Saved All Mankind?" 

"Not even close," she muttered incredulously. "He was forced to live in a small cupboard under the stairs of his house until he was eleven. The Dursely's, his Aunt and Uncle, knew about Lily and that she was a witch, so anytime as a child, Harry showed normal preliminary signs of magic, he would be beaten and forced into the cupboard. They would lock him in there for weeks and months at a time, sometimes feeding him regularly, sometimes not. All of his summer assignments had to be done in the middle of the light by flashlight—it's a sort of electric candle. This went on for years and while they became more fearful of him, they also became angrier. Bound by the Underage Use of Magic laws, Harry had no way to fight back—his Uncle would constantly beat him, taking all his rage on Harry. I remember him coming to visit Ron and I with deep purple bruises all over his body—sometimes lasting for weeks." 

Snape, for the first time in all the years that she had been acquainted with him, looked truly horrified, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. 

"I…I never knew. Albus told me that he was mistreated, but I had no idea as to what extent." His voice was noticeably shaking, and he couldn't seem to stop his right hand from quivering a bit. 

"Well," she answered quietly, "now you know." The room had lapsed into another uncomfortable silence, only broken occasionally by the noise of Severus sipping chastely at his tea—Hermione once again, could not bring herself to look into his eyes. When she finally mounted the courage, she found them hollow and searching—he looked suddenly so tired. She spoke quietly so as not to startle him, "Perhaps I should go now, you look tired."

He lifted his head in a motion of delayed reaction and after studying her face for a moment, nodded his head in agreement. She got up and slowly made her way to the door, collecting the pile of books at the end of the table. "Do you mind if I take these with me, to look over a bit. I promise not to completely ruin them." He cracked a small smile—precisely what she had been aiming for—and moved to the door. On his way to see her out, Severus scooped up her cloak and mini-pile of books.

"Here you are," he spoke quietly before handing the things over to her. For just a millisecond, their hands touched and she could swear that the jolt that passed through her body, had been present in him too. Giving him one last smile, she exited the room, her whispered 'thank you' hanging gently in the air along with her scent.

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A/N: Wow, I really wasn't expecting this chapter to be so long, but Hermione's little speech about Harry came out of nowhere and she just wouldn't shut up. I'm sorry if the ending is kind of lame, but it's midnight and the day has been long—please forgive, the next chapter will be written under the influence of a good night's rest and a strong cup of tea…hopefully! Hope you enjoyed, spanks a million! 


	8. As Gentle Day

~Hmmm. I should just stop pretending that this will be the last time it takes me an eternity to post a chapter—because it won't. I can only apologize for being such a terrible author when it comes to stuff like this—I'm afraid I've just have loads of work to do for school and with the holidays coming, it's been quite crazy. Hope all my fellow citizens had a spiffing Thanksgiving—everyone else: Hope you had a Happy November 28th! Here's the story!  
~P.S. Yay! Going to see CoS for the third time tomorrow ::throws hands up in joy!:: Look, I saw this on a billboard in Times Square today, at the Parade, and thought of HP: (OvO) it's supposed to be an owl (use the 'v' as his nose!) Yeah, I know it was incredibly lame, but I really couldn't resist posting it after seeing it there today! Forgive Me.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognizable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations (Hehehehe!!) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)  
  


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**Chapter 8  
As Gentle Day**

The pale almost sickly morning light of winter was all that Hermione needed to wake her from an uncommonly pleasant dream that had overtaken her in the last most potent hours of her sleep. She recalled a man; tall, dark hair, and no visible scars that interrupted the flow of his most noble forehead—laced by gentle wrinkles, perhaps from years of arduous study, but smooth and inviting none the less.

"Severus," she whispered almost inaudibly to the frozen still room, only half-lit by the mornings waning light. Shivering as she felt the air on the bare skin of her forearms, Hermione threw herself back into the downy fluffing of her pillows and pulled the blanket all the way up to her chin, cuddling into the warmest spot under the duvet. 

Staring up at the delicate creases of red fabric that created the canopy of her four-poster, she tried to pretend that she was in the dark as to why, every night since their meeting in his chambers a week ago, she had been dreaming about Severus Snape; fraught by the thought that she knew perfectly well why these particular dreams were always so pleasing. 

"Damnit!" she huffed into the air, leaving swirling wisps of hot breath floating before her face. It had only been a couple of months since she had ended her relationship with Harry, claiming that she needed to be herself, and she was already thinking about another man. And not just any man at that, but her former Professor who was likely old enough to be her father—although, he certainly didn't look _that_ old. Tactfully avoiding the matter at hand, she laid a few moments trying to calculate his exact age. She knew that Harry's parents had been 18 when they had him, and Severus had been in the same year as them, therefore he had to be at least 18 years older than her. Although, if she was really going for exact, rationalization ages, he was only 15 years older than her—Hermione being 3 years older than her _actual_ age by use of the Time Turner that she had given up for her Fourth Year, but promptly taken up directly again in her remaining years. Firmly settled on him being 15 years her senior, the thought of Harry was soon conjured up once again.

_But Severus wasn't like Harry_, a stressed area of her mind pleaded. He didn't want her to be something that she wasn't—he didn't want her to be his trophy wife, she doubted that he wanted her as a wife at all…probably not even a lover. This was all quite stupid really; she wasn't even in any sort of relationship with the man. She'd only met him a few times since she had come back and while those had been the most pleasant times she had experienced in the past five years or so, they didn't automatically add up to love, or that he was feeling anything but a decrease in annoyance by her. So she was back where she started; burrowed between the covers of her bed in an absurdly cold little room completely alone. Only as an after thought did she turn over and look at the calendar hanging on the wall nearest her bed.

"December 24th?" she groaned disbelievingly. No, she didn't think that she could handle being this depressed when everyone around her was intent to make 'merry'—they would all have to just bugger off, she wasn't going to even get out of this bed today. Grabbing her wand off the side-table, she set a small fire ablaze in the fireplace opposite the end of her bead, placed a warming charm on the rest of the room, and summoned for a House Elf to send up a breakfast tray which, within minutes, was sitting, steaming with delicious food, at the foot of the bed. 

The eggs and muffins were divinity manifested—she'd never tasted anything so wonderful. She was sure that somewhere, there was a House Elf who sole specialization was thinking up meals that seemed to make even the lowest of people feel a little less dreary in the morning. Although, chuckling lightly, she didn't imagine that even King Henry's feast could make Snape a more pleasant morning person. In a decidedly smart move, Hermione made a firm agreement with the ramped parts of her mind, not to think of Snape until after lunch.

~***~

  
  


Severus Snape was troubled. Not that that was anything particularly surprising considering his disposition, but that which was troubling this morning, and had been since the night of he and Hermione's meeting a week ago, was not something that he was especially accustomed to. He shivered, drawing his heavier winter robes closer around his body as he moved swiftly through the frozen and peaceably silent corridors. It was far too damn cold in this castle, every morning seeming more frigid than the last. For the sake of Merlin, he could feel his nose becoming a chink of ice, being positive that upon his arrival in Albus Dumbledore's office, there would be some sort of completely untactful and 'highly delightful' (as the joker himself considered it) comment about his resemblance to a muggle flying moose, or something to that effect that always seemed to entertain him to no end during this time of year. Severus would shake his head, avoiding the twinkling eyes that seemed to find so much amusement in all of life. He only wished that he could take everything so light-heartedly.

Coming to the entrance of Dumbledore's office, Snape was not surprised to see the Headmaster himself—standing next to the gargoyle, sucking thoughtfully on what he only supposed was a sherbert lemon or other such confectionary trash.

"Ah, Severus," the elderly wizard pronounced, swallowing the candy before smiling brightly, "I expected that I would be seeing you sometime this morning." The hideous stone creature swung aside and Dumbledore gestured for Severus to go ahead first.

"I had no doubt that you would have, Albus," Severus answered shortly before following the winding staircases up into the Headmaster's office. It was decorated in a variety of reds and greens and golds for the Christmas season. As he scanned to the corner, Severus saw that even Fawkes hadn't escaped the force that was Albus Dumbledore and tinsel—his perch was practically luminescent with the silver glint. "I see that you have kept things tasteful as always." Albus simply chuckled before sitting in the large chair behind his desk.

"Yes, well, I suppose that I did go a bit overboard, but I do believe that this is truly the most 'magical' time of the year." Severus twitched uncomfortably in his chair, all this gild was making him nervous, besides the fact that he had just witnessed a blatant admittance from the Great Dumbledore that his holiday decorations may border on the over-zealous—you were usually more likely to get Draco Malfoy to kiss Harry. This brought him back to the matter at hand.

"Listen Albus, as much as I would love to sit here and chat about the 'do's and do not's' of holiday paraphernalia, I've come here with a slightly more pressing question." He stopped and took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me…_any_ of us about…."

"Because it wasn't my story to tell. If Mr. Potter felt that it had been necessary to tell the staff, he would have," Dumbledore cut in poignantly, leaving Snape with the disconcerting feeling of someone whom everyone knew everything about. Of course Albus knew what he was going to say! Severus above all others should have recalled just how annoying talking with Albus could be. It didn't mean that he had to like it though.

"But, you allowed me to go on…treating him that way I mean. Albus, you know that I wouldn't have said some of those things if I had known." 

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore said through twinkling eyes and smiling lips. "I know that you are not 'all heatless' as the student body here assumes, Severus. I allowed you to berate Harry because I believe that it humanized his time here at Hogwarts. You never singled him out…Oh, no…not making him feel special like the rest of us did. You're treatment of him put him on the same level as every other student in your classes, it grounded him." Albus paused thoughtfully for a moment, the faintest flicker of sadness sweeping over his face. "I wonder, perhaps, that more of us might have treated him thus—maybe he wouldn't have turned out the way he did." Snape was taken aback for the second time in the space of ten minutes. It was the closest thing that one would ever get from Albus resembling an unabashed disclosure of error on his part. A thought flickered and ignited in the back of Severus' mind. He looked back at Albus, seeing plainly the intense sparkle in his eyes—knowing that the old wizard was anticipating the exact question he was intent on asking, but damned if he wasn't going to wait for Severus to voice it first!

"What exactly is Mr. Potter like these days, I haven't exactly been receiving my fan club monthly news post these last few years," Snape sneered with as much venom as possible, angered that he hadn't been able to resist the bait cast so skillfully by Dumbledore. Albus smiled inwardly at Severus' discomfort, knowing quite expressedly the real reason behind such an inquiry.

"Well, quite honestly Severus, it would be easy for me to sit here and tell you that Harry turned out just the way that I, and his parents, would have wanted him to." There was a slight 'hurumph' from Snape before Dumbledore, choosing most wisely to ignore such reactions from Severus when it came to James, continued. "However, to be honest with you, the boy has become a bit of a disappointment. He cares more about his work than what he is actually working for. It's not to say that he isn't honest to a fault, it's just that he no longer seems to care about the greater good, to concerned with the prosaic and details to notice the 'bigger picture' as they say." Seeing that he was quickly losing Severus' interest, for he supposed that the potions master had expected Harry's eminent downfall, in one way or another, all along, he decided to change tactics a bit. "I mean, just look at the appalling way he treated Miss Granger." Dumbledore was amply rewarded when, even if only through a subconscious effort, Snape's back stiffened and he looked back up at the Headmaster. Smiling broadly, Dumbledore decided to relent with his teasing of the young man today. He was even more overjoyed when Snape intercepted his speech.

"What exactly _did_ Mr. Potter do to Miss Granger? I have heard it mentioned on more than one occasion—it seems as though you are all quite content to keep everyone in the dark of your pathetic little secret." _Damnit!_ He had tried so hard to contain that bloody question, but it just slipped out anyway completely unheeded—he was really losing his touch. He only hoped, in vain, that the extra venom pumped into the last part would be enough to blanket his original ill-masked interest. By the look on Dumbledore's face, all attempts were completely negated. The old man settled back in his chair finally, brows knitted tightly in intense concentration.

"Mr. Potter simply committed the greatest sin that one could commit with a woman like Miss Granger—he ignored her. Not in the usual cursory manner, but in that he stopped seeing her for what she was—a brilliant witch with an unimaginable amount of talent. He tried to make her fit more into what he needed her to be, what he thought she should be, what…."

"Well, why didn't she stop him?" Severus interrupted more quickly than he could contain himself—his mind begging to continue, his body trying to deny that such an outburst really had occurred. These were the times that Severus was thankful for Dumbledore's unnerving omniscience that bordered tiltingly on blatant mind reading.

"Because," he began with eternal patience, knowing that part of Severus would never grasp the concept about to be laid before him, "very simply, Miss Granger loves him." Dumbledore smiled as Snape looked appalled. "Yes, as hard as that is for you to comprehend, Hermione truly loved Harry—perhaps, in the beginning, she might have even been in-love with him, but even that I fear, is most unlikely. Harry was more like a brother to her than anything else." Dumbledore paused for a moment, looking off towards a particularly interesting scene that Snape couldn't even fathom, yet. Regaining his composure, the Headmaster turned back to Severus, noting with no little amount of sadness, how utterly confused and alone the boy looked. Of course he didn't understand the concept of love, how often had he been showed it? But, thought a steadfast part of the Headmaster, _that may not always be the case_. Albus smiled once more. "She was not however when, after years of growing further and further apart, he proposed to her. It was a pretty nasty affair apparently; she refused him, to his utter and _pompous_ dismay." The word 'pompous' had been practically choked out, truly displaying how much the boy had changed if even Albus Dumbledore was drawn towards the use of censorious adjectives when describing him. "Miss Granger took it rather hard—really terribly, truth be told. I'm afraid to admit that for a couple of weeks I had to place a charm over the house warning me should she try anything too…damaging."

Snape almost choked on nothing at all—nothing but his own breath and the unspoken words of anger that lay dormant on his well-checked tongue. _She had tried to kill herself?_ It didn't quite seem possible—Hermione was always so strong and unfaltering, the thought that she had considered taking her own life…that she had considered death to be a more palatable option than that life which she had been living, well, it…. Snape unconsciously closed his eyes, desperately trying to will his breathing into a normal rhythm, trying to contain the rage towards Potter that now threatened to overtake him. _But she's so strong._

"Even the strong have moments of weakness, Severus." Dumbledore's words pierced like steel. Hermione wasn't perfect, she was a human with feelings—the same as him. She too could be strong, but she was just as vulnerable to attacks of utter weakness. The need for Potter's throat beneath his fingers soon melted into another, more pressing one—the need to feel Hermione's smooth skin beneath him. To touch her, hold her, protect her—make sure that no one like Potter could ever hurt her again. 

When Severus finally opened his eyes, Dumbledore was looking at him most placidly, an all-too-pleased look about his features. Snape stood suddenly, needing to find her as soon as possible.

"I suppose that you have urgent matters to attend to Severus," Albus stated knowingly, "I suggest you get to her right away." Snape could almost swear he had just heard him say 'her', but chose to ignore it as he flew from the office with greater determination and spirit than Dumbledore had seen in a long time. "It's in their hands now," Dumbledore stated to the scarlet and gold phoenix perched happily in the far corner. Fawkes gave only a slight nod of his head before turning back to whatever it was that Phoenixes did in their spare time. Dumbledore chuckled and turned his mind back to matters just as mysterious.

* * *

A/N: Here's hoping that Severus doesn't screw everything up in his infinite obliviousness to the situation! Please, oh please, oh please! 


	9. Me That Languish'd For Her Sake

Alright, here is Chapter 9. So very sorry to keep all of you who have been keeping up with this story waiting, but it _has_ been a crazy month. Between Conference Papers, Packing, Christmas, and the joy, and other emotions, contained in coming home for the first time in three months...well, there just hasn't been a lot of time for converting, but I swear that the next chapter will be up soon. Plus to add insult to injury, I've had to come home to Dial-up...Oh DSL, why are you so far away from me?! Hope You enjoy this...and extra thanks to all those reviewers who 'inspired' me to get up off my ass and finally post this..sorry again to havekept you waiting. Happy New Year to everyone as well!!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognizable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations (Hehehehe!! ) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)  


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**Chapter 9  
Me That Languish'd for Her Sake**  
  


It was moments like these that, Hermione could assert without a doubt, made up the 'true' meaning of life. Moments in which time was measured, not by the ever ticking clock, but by the turn of a page and the sipping of strong brew of tea. It was the moments like these that were her root, that place that she had not been able to find in the past years with Harry—he would not condone sitting around, reading for an entire day. Definitely wouldn't have condoned days like today, she thought with an evil grin that slowly spread from her mouth to her eyes. 

For what had she done today? Nothing, and it was precisely the way she had intended it. After breakfast, she padded about the quarters for a bit, bathing, straightening random items until everything was perfect and she could not avoid the moment any longer—the moment where she would have to come to terms with whether or not reading was still something that could occupy and consume her the way that it had as a child. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that reading, much in the fashion of learning how to ride a bike (something that her parents had taught her when she was very young), was something that you did not forget how to do simply by way of not practicing. She had picked up a book direct after lunch and had not been able to put it down for the last five hours—it felt so good to be back in the habit of this. 

A few minutes after 5:30, there came a swift knock on her door. Begrudgingly setting the well-loved, yet long-lost, copy of Hogwarts: The Unabridged History on the nearby table, Hermione stood, stretched and walked to the door, opening it to a welcome surprise.

"Amadeus!" she crooned with genuine pleasure, "It's wonderful to see you again. Please, come in." He greeted her warmly, enquiring on how her lip was this morning. "Oh, that?" she laughed, clearing a way a few old copies of the Daily Prophet from the sofa, gesturing for him to take a seat. "No, no, Poppy is a miracle worker with things of that sort. And besides, she's seen me in far worse condition than a bloodied lip…being frozen by a Basilik is certainly a far larger scrape!" Amadeus laughed with her, taking the proffered tea, and explaining how he thought that he might have read something concerning that incident when he was younger.

And so another hour passed in perfectly amicable conversation until the clock bell chimed that they should be heading down to dinner. Just as they were both heading out the door, Hermione was suddenly struck, as is usually the case with these things, with the answer to a particularly difficult question she had been on about for a good 20 minutes earlier that day.

"Oh, no, no," she replied when Amadeus offered to wait for her, "No, I need to read a couple of quick passages and then I'll be down, could you please give my excuses to Albus?" 

"Of course," he replied with a shy smile, "it would be the least I could do." And then, as suddenly as a snidget, he leaned toward her and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. Blushing furiously and stuttering his words, he spoke. "I'll…well, I think I'd better…later, Hermione." And he was gone, the door clicking firmly behind him. 

Flopping down into the nearest chair, her answer-quest momentarily forgotten, Hermione's hand slowly found its way to her cheek. She couldn't believe he had done that, it was so sweet, so terribly innocent. With a horrible force, it shoved her mind back into recalling the way Harry had first kissed her—a brief flutter of his lips upon her cheek after he'd won a Quidditch match in their fifth year. He had flushed, and she had kissed him back, from that moment on they had been inseparable. But the kiss from Amadeus hadn't been like that. She wasn't in love with him, harbouring years of unrequited love—they had just met, and already he fancied himself taken with her! It all seemed rather ridiculous when she thought about it—like he was a young school boy with a crush on her. Why did she suddenly fell so much older than he was?

"Because you've, more than likely, experienced far more emotional pain than he has," he mind supplied pertly. Yes, that had to be it. Perhaps….

There was a swift knock at the door. Hermione jumped, she didn't expect Amadeus to come back at all, let alone so soon. Upon opening the door, though, she was met with quite another person than that whom she'd been expecting. Severus. Seeing him there, so close to being in her private rooms, made her knees suddenly weak.

"Hermione, a word if you please." It was a statement, not a request—one that demanded no answer as she moved aside, allowing his soft robes to sweep against her trousers, sending those too familiar pleasant shivers throughout her body. He swept effortlessly into the room and began pacing the small space between her couch and the dinning table, stopping occasionally to look at her, mouth open slightly like he was going to say something before he shook his head and continued his stride. More confused than she had been in a while, Hermione silently shut the door, something insider telling her to lock and ward it, before she sat on the edge of the sofa, almost amusedly watching Snape in his movements—nervous and jumpy—most unusual. 

It was a good number of minutes before he finally stopped and faced her, an unreadable expression blooming in his eyes as he gazed upon her like he had so many other times, only it was different—somehow very different. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" _That statement is getting positively redundant_, Severus thought idly as he stared into her disbelieving eyes. It wasn't like him to do this kind of thing; he had spent the last few hours trying to curtail this new found energy that seemed to propel him in the general direction of Hermione Granger's chambers. It was maddening, internally racking him—even now, pushing the idea of crossing the space between them in one stride and taking her into his arms.

"Tell you what?" Her voice was small and confused—he knew that he must sound like a complete fool, a jealous partner who was about to accuse her of keeping secrets, secrets that she really had no reason to tell him to begin with. It was so unlike him, but for once he didn't feel like denying these feelings, this was his chance. He wanted her to share her secrets with him…all of them. He wanted to know every part of her, to know that for once someone knew him too. He wanted to tell her everything, but instead settled for an angry rant, voice booming in a way that she hadn't heard since her days in Double Potions.

"Tell me about the problems you were having…the things that everyone else in this school seemed to know, but I didn't. It's like you all don't deign to inform me of anything that's going on simply because of who I am. I'm Snape. Snape the Bastard, Evil Git, Slime Bag, and whatever other witty expletives the children of this school feel necessary to attach to my name. I'm not an unfeeling monster. So, yes, I'm mean, but it's for your own good. You all don't know what it's like outside of the safe Albus-Dumbledore-protected school world that you live in. You think it's all bloody wonderful to just have fun and not think about the consequences! And why the hell should I have to explain any of this to you all any way?" He stopped to take a breath, immediately giving Hermione the chance to get a word in.

"Sit Down!" she yelled, throwing her self out of her seat. Snape jerked and stared coldly down at her.

"What did you say to me little girl?"

"I told you to sit down Professor! And _do_ stop behaving like a child who's just had his favourite toy broken!" Severus begrudgingly sat in the nearest armchair, crossing his arms over his chest in and expression so juvenile that it rightly warranted Hermione's earlier assessment of his behaviour. "Now, you're acting positively crazy. What _are_ you going on about?" Snape breathed in, ragged, harsh. Looking earnestly up into her eyes, he took his heart into his own hands for once and grasped one of hers. Hermione's breath caught, she looked down at her small hand clasped within his, and then turned back to him. Slowly, he pulled her to sit on the ottoman in front of his chair. 

"Harry" came the one word response that was all the invite Hermione needed to completely close down. She stared off into the distance, suddenly marveling at how easy it was to avoid a touchy subject to the point of almost thinking that you are over it. Only the reminder of Severus' hand, he had begun to rhythmically stroke his thumb over the back of her palm, brought her back. 

"What's there to say?" she asked, a forced playfulness bitterly mocking the way her heart felt at that moment. "I loved him, and he changed. People change. And love doesn't exist…not really." 

Severus listened to the quiet intonation of her voice, watched the slow drop of her head, as if she was ashamed of feeling what she had, and for all the canon it inspired, for once Severus Snape felt more enthusiastic about the term 'love' than someone else. _May wonders never cease._ He slowly manoeuvred his finger to her chin, lifting her head gently until her eyes met his own.

"This is going to sound like the most ridiculous thing in the world," he admitted gently to the silence and the girl, "but…love, well…love isn't like that." Her laugh was bitter and almost heartbreaking as she lightly pushed his hand away and stood, crossing to the window over looking the lake. Her words mirrored the frozen winter scene before her.

"Love? What is love? Where did it get _me_? I'll tell you where—to loneliness. It lets you surrender your soul to one person…_one_ person," she emphasized loudly, turning around so that he could clearly see the tears sliding down her cheek. "One person who can take that gift, and toss it aside like so much rubbish." The last sentence was a whisper that barely escaped her lips. Trembling. "Love is nothing, an illusion. A Lie."

Why did this suddenly matter so much to him? Why was he suddenly moved by the emotional problems of some girl 13 years or so his junior. Most women who cried he considered weak and futile, but there was something…something, about Hermione Granger that made him want to run to her and tell her that love did exist, that he…. _Oh honourable Merlin._ He _loved_ her. But did he even know if love _did_ exist? Yes. For once he was going to be the strong one, the one with the answers.

It had only taken him two seconds to cross to her, to pull her into his arms, and hold onto her for dear life. She pulled away at first, but he held fast, whispering, whispering, "No, no, no" over and over. Finally she pulled back and pleaded with his eyes, her voice only slightly less desperate.

"How can _you_ of all people say that?" She asked, her voice high and cracked. "How can you say that love exists? Have _you_ ever been in love? Do you know what it's like to need someone more than you need yourself? To fall so far that there is no escape and that even when they aren't there you can still feel their arms around you? Feel their presence?" There was no more thinking to this conversation—it had reached its most basic level: emotion. No thoughts to the answers, just the Answers.

"Yes." Quiet.

"Who" she queried brutally. No thoughts.

"You." Severus had honestly been surprised by the effortlessness of the answer—like breathing, that's what the truth was.

Hermione stood perfectly still, staring up at him with an abject amazement that he hadn't seen since he first laughed in front of her. Suddenly there was fear, though. Fear that she wouldn't feel the same, that _she_ would laugh, that she would stare at him like that forever. _Say something_, he willed silently. _**Anything**_.

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Yippe! _Soooo_ sorry to leave such a horrible cliff-hanger, but what can I say? I'm an evil chit. No really. Oh Athena, look for the next one soon—real soon, I'm not that mean—and thanks!  
By-the-by, the sentence "What is love? Where did it get me?" is from a fabulous Dar Williams song called "Iowa"…which really has no relevance to this particular story, but is a very moving and beautiful song nonetheless. 


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